Summer of the Hooded Warbler
by Falco Peregrinus
Summary: Kurt goes into "active brooding" when his family drags him to Wyoming to spend the summer with their relatives. His views might change when he meets a handsome Lakota cowboy. Finchel and Seblaine annoy everyone. Anderberry siblings. Finn ships Klaine, you should too.
1. Welcome to Nowhere

_Kurt goes into "active brooding" when his family drags him to Wyoming to spend the summer with their relatives. Will Kurt's views on Wyoming change when he meets Blaine, a half-Native American cowboy? Klaine. Anderberry Siblings. Finchel and Seblaine annoys the snot out of everyone. Rating currently T, but will change to M._

**A/N: Okay, so this is part of an experiment that revolves around the idea of, "Can Pip actually write a drama? Can Pip write romance? Will Pip realize that he can't write a drama and settle for a dramedy instead?" That and I wanted to write it, so the least you can do is read it and then point and laugh at the wannabe seriousness of the whole thing. (Readers who are new to my work, I tend to be self-depricating and sarcastic, so please do not be scared off.) So anyway, this is Kurt being really bitchy. He'll quite being so bitchy and unpleasant once he sees a pretty face. Because pretty faces and *cough* Blaine *cough* always helps. So please, read and review. My goal is update it at least once a week, but the chapters are long, I have to do research for this one and I've promised myself that I'd be serious in this one, so it might take awhile. Enjoy and thanks for reading!**

**Oh, right, warnings this chapter has some swearing and an overload of Kurt's snarky mind, but in the future, be sure to look for: in the future there will be: profanity, violence, possibly some self-harm and/or rape or attempted rape and sex. But I can assure you that there will not be graphic descriptions of Finchel or Seblaine sex unless I WANT to make myself vomit. On a similar topic, there will be depictions of heterosexuality in this story and while I understand many of you aren't used to such a thing, I am confident that you will come to understand and accept it. You see, some men and women are attracted to the **_**opposite **_**sex. Weird, huh? Just know that while it's a little different, it is perfectly normal and they are human beings first and heterosexuals second. /end sarcasm**

Wyoming. I mean, I shouldn't really be complaining, I'm from Ohio; I'm don't demand all the luxuries of a New York penthouse, (I would like to, but that doesn't mean I can right now) but point being, I am accustomed to civilization. My dad builds cars and I go to public high school, so it's not like I've got to have four-carrot diamonds with my morning—whole wheat, organic, I might add—cereal, but for God's sake, I did not sign up to squat in a tepee for the summer!

"We're going. You haven't seen them since you were a toddler."

"But Dad!" I protested, for the millionth time.

"We're going." He said, firmly. I flashed him my puppy eyes. Big, round blue-green saucers of cuteness overload. Seriously, who could resist the—"And that's final." He added.

I slumped back onto the couch with a sigh that reeked with bitchiness, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Don't sigh, Kurt."

"I was breathing. Is that the new rule? No breathing under your roof?"

"You know what you were doing. It was rude. Now go upstairs, give yourself an attitude adjustment and start packing. We leave next week."

I looked at my father, the glare on my face shifting to a look of shock.

"A _week_?" I squeaked, my voice even higher than usual. "You expect me to be ready to leave for that…that wasteland devoid of humanity in a _week_?"

"That's _exactly_ what I'm expecting you to do. Now shoo."

I did shoo, but not happily. I pranced out of the room, whipping my hair around…as much as it could be whipped what with all the hairspray I put in it (which is not too much—I refuse to acknowledge the claims filed against me on that subject).

"Kurt, the bitchface." My dad warned.

I had to hand it to the man, for as pissed as I was just then, it took real skill to read a person's facial expressions while standing five feet behind them. He was as talented as he let on, but I suppose I got it from somewhere.

I turned around, giving the puppy eyes of adora-doom one last shot. It didn't work.

"Pack. And Kurt? Pack some clothes you don't like."

"I like all my clothes." Wasn't that obvious? I wouldn't be seen in anything that I didn't like. And this had been a known fact since I had been six.

"Well, then pack some jeans that you aren't…uh, overly fond of. There will be cattle."

Oh Gaga no!

I merely nodded dumbly and climbed to my room, where I proceeded to faceplant into my bed, where I lay motionless for a long minute or two. Yes, he had been serious. Either that or my father had the worst sense of humor in the world. Just to recap: the four of us are being shipped off to Wyoming for the summer, where we will eat the scraps of atery-clogging beef fat, live in a mudhut while we enjoy the hospitalities of the conversative locals. Speaking of which, my aunt and uncle and cousins don't know I'm gay. I imagine that will change in the first ten minutes during which they lay eyes on me. That's right: no fashion, no gay-ness, no civilization, just beef, beef, beef in the middle of nowhere. Oh, and did I mention I'm a vegetarian?

"Dude, did you like, lose your hairgel in the sheets?"

I immediately flipped over onto my back to glare at the face of my brother, Finn, hovering over mine.

"I use hairspray. I wouldn't touch hairgel with a twenty-foot pole." I snapped. He recoiled slightly.

"Geeze dude…touchy."

I ignored him, curling up against my headboard and hugging my knees to my chest. "What do you want?"

"Dude, I just wanted to see if you had any of those boots that would fit me for when we ride horses."

I snorted. Really? Really Finn? I knew he was stupid, but was he blind too? Normally, I would have jumped at the chance to dress Finn or given to give him a few fashion tips, but right now, I was upset enough to turn down a leading role in a musical on Broadway if it tap danced naked in front of me.

"Do you really think anything of mine is going to fit you, Finn? And all my clothes are _fashionable_. Not practical. Once they become practical, they loose any and all fashion attached to them…apart from an Alexander McQueen tag. Oh, and you're overusing the word 'dude'."

"Dude!"

"Dude!" I mocked, lowering my voice to resemble someone a lot deeper-voiced and a lot stupider-sounding than Finn.

"Dude! I was trying to be a concerned and caring brother!"

"Great way of showing it," I shot back, "by asking to borrow my stuff you can go play Ponies! Did you know, "pony" was slang for a drag queen?"

"What's with you, dude?" Finn threw his hands in the air and turned to leave. "Sorry for disturbing your sulk!" And he stomped out.

"Apology not accepted." I muttered, settling into what was promising to be a spectacular sulk.

One week later, we were in Polite-Society-Ends-Here Airport, Wyoming. Finn and I had made up when I taken him to get a cowboy hat days earlier, but I was still sulking, or doing what I liked to call "active brooding". It basically means that I can be as emo as I please, but I have to go through the motions of my daily life. The status of my mood had been changed from "spectacular sulk" to "active brooding" at the prospect of flying on a plane, even if it was to a place so entirely devoid of life that it made my skin dry out just thinking about it, but my excitement was short lived: flying is not exciting. After being groped by the airport security, you are herded onto a small, phalic-shaped contraptions and then launched into the air where you sit, cramped for hours while your stepbrother falls asleep on your shoulder and drools onto the artist formerly known as your perfect hair. Honestly, the only plane I ever want to get on after that is the return journey plane.

But unfortunately, the tickets home won't be in my hands until just before September. Of course, I didn't have time to lament on my being stuck in the Middle of Nowhere because the next thing I know, I'm being stuffed onto a sweaty, packed _bus_ and for the next couple of hours, Finn continues his nap where he left off. Sure, why not, my hair has already been raped by your saliva, by all means, please rub it in.

"Boys, we're here."

My eyes snapped open to see my stepmom, Carole, shaking us both by the shoulders and as I raised my head, where it had been resting against Finn's head, which was resting on my shoulder as he snored. I supposed we had looked cute…and _five_.

"Finn." I hissed, shaking him. "Finn! FINN!"

Finally, he sat up and blearily rubbed his eyes for a minute before going to lay down on my shoulder again. Grabbing his wrist, I dragged him off the bus.

Okay, I had to admit, despite my undying hatred for the place, it was a beautiful scene. Miles of inviting grass, dotted with cattle and horses in certain areas with occasional rickety barns. A giant lake in the distance caught my eye and glorious mountains tipped with snow kissed the perfect blue sky.

"My God…" Were Carole's first words.

"It's pretty." Dad commented.

"Cows!" Finn, of course.

"It smells funny." I announced, darkly.

Okay, I admit, Wyoming was beautiful, but that didn't mean I had to like it. No, I could continue to loathe it with an undying passion. Yes, it would work quite well, for I had practice at it. Take Quinn, Finn's ex-girlfriend—yes, their names rhyme. Worse dating choice. Ever. It's not cute, it's weird. But back to Quinn, she looks like a Disney princess and I can't stand the woman. I'm also gay, so I really don't care how perfect her boobs may be, so that leaves me free to hold her in contempt without personal conflict.

So the bus took off and fifteen minutes later I could feel myself stiffen as a car drove up on a gravel road and I recognized the face of my cousin, Roderick, behind the wheel. At least, I assumed it was Roderick from the face and the label on the Christmas cards. I could be wrong: my aunt and uncle had about a million kids and last time I had played with Roderick he had been much bigger than me and he had took all the hotwheels away from me. Not that I cared much, what I really wanted to do was dress the barbies, but that only prompted Roderick to tease me further and then decapitate said barbies.

"Hey…my God, Roddy?" My dad called out in disbelieve as the guy I assumed was my cousin stopped the engine and clambered out.

This would be an excellent time to mention I'm the only one who refers to him as "Roderick". I don't give a damn about his dignity, but I'd like to keep mine intact, thank you very much.

"They call me Rod now." Great, Rod, could he get any more tasteless? His acne-covered face broke out in a dimwitted grin. He was still bigger than me, nearly the same size as Finn, in fact, only covered in rippling muscles…and the stench of what I only assume was cattle. He was dressed in clothes—and calling them clothes does them honor—in a pair of stained, ripped overalls and an equally stained and ripped plaid shirt. Well points for—no, I couldn't do it. Couldn't bring myself to give Roderick points for anything, even a plaid shirt.

"You're all grown up Buddy!" And with that, my father drew Roderick into a crushing hug, which my cousin returned. Mental note to self: have father take shower before making physical contact with him again. "This is my wife, Carole." My dad said, disentangling himself and looking on, allowing the smelly thing embrace my stepmother. "And my stepson Finn," Roderick stopped long enough to envelope Finn in his billowing aroma. "And you remember your cousin Kurt, right?"

Of all the thoughts running through my head in reference to Roderick, one was strong enough to suppress all the others, even the remark I was biting back about his unshaved teen peach fuzz.

_Please don't hug. Please don't hug._

He paused, giving me the once-over, his eyes narrowing at my attire. What did he expect? I was not going to walk around in super-tight gray skinny jeans, yellow canvas shoes with a matching yellow belt and a matching shirt, my carefully selected bowtie and hat? Or was he painfully jealous of my messenger bag? Then I saw a horrible, forced smile come across his face which showed his perfect white teeth, which looked out of place on him and if anything, made him even ugiler. Then his arms extended towards me and I died…and discovered that homosexuals really do go to hell when they die. I tried holding my breath, but somehow, I still felt his damaged oxygen permiate my ollifactory system. Fortunately, neither of us wanted to maintain physical contact for longer than was necessary, so he released me rather quickly and we all stood there and then…we were supposed to squeeze into the car…until I discovered the rusty pickup truck only had a front seat, so Finn and I would be riding in the bed. No seats, no seat belts, just open air and a disaster waiting to happen. The only good thing about the seating arrangements was I didn't have to waste seconds of my life I would never get back looking at Roderick's ugly face.

There was a full two minutes of silence before Finn broke the silence.

"Do you think I could get him some deorderant?"

I had never loved my brother more than I did in that moment.

"Finn Hudson, if you do NOT teach him to use deordorant, I will personally remove the breasts from every attractive women in this state. It is God's will."

"Don't do—wait, I thought you were an atheist."

"You teach him personal hygiene and I will become a devout Catholic." I said, darkly.

"Please don't. They have to give up chocolate for rent."

"It's Lent, Finn, and they're supposed to give up—nevermind. We're stopping."

We were indeed stopping, that much was evident, as Roderick handled full-sized automobiles the same way he handled hotwheels: badly, with many abrupt movements. Doing what I could with my damaged, only perfectly-coiffed hair, I looked to see just how bad things were.

"You have got to be kidding me…"


	2. Beautiful Creatures

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and story alerts, guys! You're the best! *touches nose* (AVPM reference for those who don't know). So I wasn't planning to be writing the next chapter for awhile, but my muse for this story is through the roof right now. Reviews are love. Thank you! Warnings for this chapter include more swearing, snarky Kurt and Kurt's general hating on Wyoming. No offense Wyoming! I just thought you'd be an interesting place to set this story...I was thinking about Virginia, but you made the cut, so congratulations! Also, I don't live in Wyoming, so I apologize for any inaccuracies. Enjoy! Please read and review!**

"You have to be kidding me."

We both spoke at the same time, but with two completely different intentions. Finn's eyes were bugging out of his head and a smile was lighting up his face as he sprang out of the bed of the pickup truck. He was like a kid at Christmas, bouncing up and down on his feet as he surveyed the sight in front of us. I, on the other hand, did not share his enthusiasm.

I suppose it could have been worse, but I was still stomaching the reality that was rearing its ugly head and spitting in my face. What was an excuse for a human dwelling, the "farmhouse" was sitting in the middle, surrounded by flowers and graced by a porch so old and rickety that I'm sure there were laws in place to warrant its immediately destruction. And it did have a nice roof, where I imagine you would take your lover on a summer night to watch the stars shoot across the—oh, right, I forgot, no gayness. A short distance from the farmhouse, there was a much smaller building the purpose of which I did not know and then there was the barn, a gigantic wooden structure that was probably several stories high. I did not want to think about the horrors, otherwise known as livestock, that lived within its walls. And then there was nothing, apart from the laundry lines that stretched out next to the house. There was a hedge of trees in the distance and then more nothing.

_Wonderful_.

"C'mon Kurt!" I heard Finn as he headed for the house.

"Finn, your suitcase!" But my brother had already taken off, so I was left to deal with two suitcases and my messenger bag. I managed, but it did nothing to improve my mood as I arrived, huffing and puffing on that probably-against-building-safety-codes front porch.

"Kurt?"

A middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway. A woman with long black hair and deep green eyes. She shared my upturned nose…my dad's upturned nose.

"Aunt Helen?"

She pulled me into a hug and kissed me on both cheeks. She smelled of animals, but it wasn't nearly as bad as Roderick. I let it go and relaxed into the hug, drawing my arms around her back and embracing her.

"You've gotten so tall and so…pretty…" She finished, deciding that "handsome" wasn't the right word. "And you're so skinny. You need to eat more. You and Sebastian both…like beanpoles. Come in, bring your luggage! I'll show you to your room, you're sharing with Sebastian."

I cringed at the thought of all the calories she was liable to shove down my throat after the "skinny" comment, but I followed her after pointedly setting down Finn's suitcase at the door. When he wanted it, he could come find it. I had already gone out of my way to schlep it in from the grown-up hotwheels truck for him.

"Sebastian!" Aunt Helen called in a sing-song voice. "Kurt's here!"

A tall, skinny boy rose from where he had been sitting on his bed and greeted me with a friendly smile. I was taken aback. The last time we had seen each other, we had both been toddlers, but I was struck by how handsome he had turned out to be. He was Roderick's identical twin brother…but apparently that was by genetics only. He and Roderick shared the same build, but his wasn't built up like a bodybuilder, his clothes were clean, he was clean (thank God) and best of all, his perfect, white teeth were clean when he smiled. He had no acne in sight and he had appeared to have done the best with what fashion options he had available to him. He held out his hand.

"Hi Kurt."

I decided I liked him. He was a shred of polite society in a dark, dark place. I smiled for the first time since arriving in the Wasteland and shook his hand.

"Hi."

Sebastian was indeed as civilized as he appeared, but the rest of the family wasn't as cultured as he, as I was to find out, after I had washed the dust off from my travels and went downstairs to reconnect with the primates who were, for some reasons, considered my relatives. So, a lie from earlier, my aunt and uncle actually do not have ten million kids. They have five: Roderick and Sebastian are the eldest at nineteen, a year older than me, Miranda, the sixteen-year-old prom queen and classic beauty who they can't wait to marry off while the ink is still wet on her high school diploma, (if she even gets one, 'cause out here, what does it matter if a _woman_ has an education?) Alex, the fourteen-year-old trying way too hard to be a man and Jenny, a crude and crass tomboy of twelve. And then there's my uncle, Adrian.

"Kurt my man!" He said, shaking my hand and nearly wringing my arm free from my socket. "So good to see you! Da-yum, you're a stunner, son, I bet the ladies are all over you."

I heard my dad's footsteps shift behind him as he opened his mouth to defend me, but a wicked idea popped into my head. No, he was forcing me to come here to heteroville and I was going to have fun for awhile. Besides, it wasn't like I was going to meet any cute _gay_ guys here anyway.

"Oh yes. My only problem is that they can't all have me at once. I thought got my girlfriend, Quinn, pregnant, before we broke up. But don't worry! I'd never had pre-marital sex. She lied to me because she couldn't handle her love for me."

The look on my dad's face was priceless. The look on Finn's face was even better, but Uncle Adrian clapped me heartily on the shoulder. "'Atta boy Kurt, you heartbreaker!"

I nodded impressively, sticking my tongue out at Finn behind uncle Adrian's back in response to his "WTF?" expression. However, my victory was short-lived, as now that Uncle Adrian had discovered that I was the golden child, he was going to show me around the farm. But it wasn't just me, it was Dad, Carole and Finn and their gaggle of male offspring followed, minus Sebastian, who mysteriously disappeared. Aunt Helen and Miranda stayed behind, presumably to make sandwiches in the kitchen for when the menfolk returned from hunting and gathering.

Smythe Ranch was primarily a cattle ranch, but pretty much every type of livestock known to man (or at least to the Smythe's) was roaming the property. The cattle were spread across their many hundreds of acres of pasture, but according to Uncle Adrian, they would return at sundown. Chickens were scattered across the yard, mixing with ducks and several turkeys and I had to assume that the poor things would only be consumed at Thanksgiving. Barbarians. Adjoining to the barn, there were a couple of enclosures, one of which was filled with a few pigs, the other of which held a few very fat goats.

"What's with the sheep?" Finn asked.

"Those are goats, Finn. Lambing season is over." Uncle Adrian said.

"What's lambing season?"

"Sheep giving birth. Most the goats have given birth too; these are the last ones to kid."

"Oh, so they're gonna have babies?" Finn could barely contain his excitement. I rolled my eyes. Great, goats popping out babies. Slim and yuck and another opportunity for my newly-approving uncle to drag me into it. We entered the barn and it was to see horse's heads sticking out of the stall doors. Now, I was never a fan of animals, unless said animal was a clean, well-mannered cat, but if I had to play with the beasts, I liked horses. Horses were beautiful, they were romantic and they were dignified. These looked ordinary. Sure, they were okay, but none of them really caught my—

"Oh my Ga-G-God," I started, blurting out against my will and saving myself just before I finished saying "Ga Ga", "Which one is that?"

He was a dapple gray horse, tall and slender, unlike the others, which were stocky and muscled. His coat looked refined and soft and his elegant head was held high as he surveyed his world with big, intelligent brown eyes. He was perhaps the only truly beautiful thing in Wyoming and I had just fallen in love.

"His name is Pavarotti." My uncle said, with distaste. "Rod won him as a prize in a roping competition. Don't know what they were thinking, giving a Thoroughbred out as a prize for a roping competition, but a horse is a horse and what horse can't herd cattle? Rod's been breaking him in."

My heart had leapt. A Thoroughbred, a fine horse and I immediately thought of _Black Beauty_, even though the horse wasn't really black. And he was named after an opera star? Could he be any more perfect? But I tasted bile in my throat when he mentioned Rod. I did not want to see Rod sit on his back. Pavarotti was a beautiful creature and the thought of Rod defiling him sent anger coursing through my veins.

Dinner was interesting. It was odd, being the golden child outside of my immediate family. My uncle, though he was thoroughly impressed with Finn, fawned over me. I told him I had played football before I had graduated (I failed to mention for how long) and that my last girlfriend's name was Brittany (which was technically true) and that I was going to a New York college to study after the summer (I didn't say _where_ or _what_ I would be studying, though).

"Your boy is going to college?" Uncle Adrian shot at Dad. "Don't you need him in the shop?"

"Finn will be helping out. Kurt is very talented and we support and encourage him in his future." He said, tersely, glaring right at me. I avoided his gaze. He wasn't pleased with my act. "Besides, I honestly believe he has a bright future on the Broadway stage."

Silence. Then Jenny dropped her fork loudly on her plate.

"Gay." She commented, picking up her fork just as loudly and shoving food into her mouth.

"Jennifer, darling, sit up straight. Don't talk with your mouth full." Aunt Helen scolded.

"The Broadway stage?" Uncle Adrian demanded, disappointment rising in his voice. "What are you, gay? Why the hell would you want to sing and dance around like a fairy?"

I flushed bright red. Yes, asshole, I am gay and I love singing and dancing around like a fairy because personally, I think I'd make a great Peter Pan. But I took a deep breath and curbed my temper.

"You see, my love affair with musical theater began in high school, when I had my first crush on a girl in the glee club, so I joined to get closer to her and I ended up marrying performance art instead of her!"

"Hmm…" My uncle grunted, still disappointed, but satisfied enough with my story to let it slide.

"Kurt."

I had my hand on my doorknob when I heard the voice I had been dreading ever since dinner.

"Hi Dad." I said, not looking at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Opening a door. Would you like to try? It's ages nosy cat and up." I said, innocently.

"Don't be smart with me, kid. What do you think you are doing…with your aunt and uncle?"

"Telling them what they want to hear." I finally turned to face him. "Isn't that what you want? A drama-free vacation where you don't have to worry about your sister's family hating you because your son has a disease?"

"There is nothing wrong with you, Kurt. I love you for who you are, not who people want you to be. And I wouldn't exchange you for the world, 'kay?"

I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. Damn it! Guilt flooded through me and I knew it was all over. Dad's honest, unconditional love got me every single time. I sighed.

"I love you too Dad."

"I'm proud of you Kurt. You're the strongest man I know and I want my sister and her family to be proud of you too, so just…be who you are, please?"

I sighed again. I wanted to be who I was around them more than he could ever know, but even more so, I wanted to not be constantly be bashed for being gay all summer by my own kin and I didn't want my dad to have to put up with that.

"Fiiiiiinnnnneeee."

"Good." He moved in for a hug and I willingly collapsed into my arms. Here, in the middle of the Wasteland, my dad felt incredible, even with all the horses and cattle and pregnant goats, my dad smelled amazing, he smelled like home, he smelled like him.

"Now get to sleep, kiddo."

These people get up at an ungodly early.

I mean, I thought I got up early to choose my outfit, shower and clean up my skin, but no, the barbarians arise before the sun and they don't even spend time on themselves. It's throw whatever clothing you have laying around and head outside. And so I woke with Sebastian shaking me. I got up, making sure to show him every inch of how displeased I was as I started to pick out an outfit.

"Um, Kurt?"

I turned around to see him holding out a pair of worn out, stained jeans and a flannel shirt towards me.

"Go with plaid, blue, it looks against your skin tone." I said, after giving the embarrassingly drab clothes a quick glance.

"They're not for me, they're for you."

It took me a moment for me to process what he had said to me. I was supposed to wear those? _Those_? Finally I gathered my wits and formed my thoughts into words. I liked Sebastian, so I censored my condescension and insults.

"Sebastian, I appreciate what you're trying to do for me, but understand if I wear something that doesn't have 'fashion' written artfully all over it in ornate lettering, I wither and die like a delicate flower."

"You know, despite the all the blondes you've dated, you're rather gay." He shot back, without missing a beat.

Before I could stop myself, I shot back, "No shit Sherlock."

He looked at me for a long, hard moment before laying the clothes on the bed.

"It's up to you, but your clothes are going to get ruined out there."

And then he left. I continued to coif my hair, but in the end, I gave in to wearing his clothes, which were baggy on me after I had finished cuffing them to fit my much smaller body. I wore overalls when I worked on cars for my dad, but at least they were designer overalls! The rest of them were all downstairs, noshing on various snack foods. Sebastian wordlessly handed me a banana. I raised my eyebrows, but made no comment as I delicately pealed it and ate it.

Chores consisted and giving horses and goats hay and all the animals fresh water and Jenny milked the goats that had babies, the latter of which Finn nearly pounced on and feigned death from an overload of cuteness. I had to admit, they were pretty cute, but they weren't worth rolling around in goatshit over. I watched as Rod tossed hay into Pavarotti's bin without so much as looking at him. The beautiful creature waited until the man had taken a few steps away before lowering his head to delicately eat. I wonder if I was drawn to him so much because he reminded me of me. He was the height of fashion and he seemed sensitive, smart and…civilized. I fancied him to be gay, swooning at the sight of strapping stallions and crushing over the other colts, but I was most rudely jerked out of my fantasy when I was introduced to the horse I was going to ride.

Blazer was butt-ugly. Okay, really, he wasn't _that_ bad, but after the sheer beauty of Pavarotti, he wasn't much to look at. He was a drab chestnut who appeared severely legarthic and had a bad-tempered expression stuck permanently on his misshapen face. He was fitted with a big, clunky Western saddle that squeaked every time Blazer took a step. My experience on horseback was limited to riding ponies at the fair when I was seven and this horse was no pony. In spite of dearly-needed lessons, uncle Adrian sent me and Finn into the nearby arena, made us canter around a couple of times before announcing that we were ready to go herd cattle.

Uncle Adrian, Dad, Finn, Roderick, Sebastian, Alex and I set out into the mid-morning, the hot, Wyoming sun settling on our backs as we rode after the cattle. Blazer's gaits were chopping and uncomfortable, surely chaffing me in the thighs by now. Beads of sweat ran down my face as I bounced around in the saddle as my noble steed plodded on. Kurt Hummel, future Broadway star is slowly castrated by a horse in the Wastelands of America. I was starting to get thirsty when out of the blue, Blazer stopped dead and I nearly toppled over his head. He was snorting and no one had turned to notice. I kicked him viciously in the ribs, but he wouldn't budge.

"Come on!" I complained. Still, no one noticed.

Then I heard a sound that I had only heard before in own Westerns. An ominous rattling sound. I looked down and not even a foot from Blazer's front hooves, there was a rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike. I tried to scream, to squeak, to call for help, but no sound came out.

It happened in an instant. Blazer spun on his haunches. The rattlesnake struck and then I could feel the earth spinning and before I knew what was happening, Blazer was galloping as fast as he could. I heard far off cries of distress containing the word "Kurt", but I could do nothing more than clutch to Blazer's mane like my life depended on it, which, in fact, it did. We were flying over the ground, through the trees, every stride painful until Blazer tripped over a stone jutting out of the ground and I was airborne, over his head. I hit the ground hard and tumbled over the hard earth until I finally came to a stop. I lay there for a minute, the wind knocked out of me. Then the pain kicked in and I groaned and curled into a fetal position. I don't know how long I lay there, but I drifted off to sleep.

When I awoke, the sun was setting, its last rays lighting up the sky in a glorious masterpiece of dazzling color. High above my head, a yellow bird sat on a tree branch and sang, far more beautifully than I could ever hope to. For a moment, everything was perfect…and then I remembered where I was, what I was doing and how much pain I was in and I felt a gasp leave my mouth. It was far more intense now than it had been earlier. I let out a dry sob as I forced myself to sit up.

And that's when I saw him, silhouetted against the sunset, sitting proudly upon his horse, his curls falling into his eyes. He was my knight in shining armor and as he neared me, I realized I had been wrong; Pavarotti was not the only beautiful creature in Wyoming.


	3. Wyoming Fucking Wyoming

**A/N: Loooonnnggg chapter. There was more, but I'll save it for chapter 4. I love Kurt's snarky mind. So…I'm not really attracted to Darren Criss, so ladies and gentlemen, if I did not do your sex god justice, please let me know, I am happy to edit this to oblige you. Also, I don't know if Wyoming is THIS conservative, but I'm just imagining this is a town where time stood still. Don't judge me, I'm from Washington State. Warnings for this chapter include: profanity, use of guns and a racial slur. In other news, I'd like to thank Gleek1906-Klaine4eva for reviewing every chapter (and thanks for reviewing **_**The Once and Future Baby Peguin**_** as well). Thanks for reading and enjoy! Reviews are the shit!**

As he came into view, I instinctively sat up a little straighter, even though I winced in pain. Remember what I said about not finding any pretty boys in Wyoming? Oh, wait, that was finding any _gay_ boys in Wyoming, never mind. Still, the boy on the house was undeniably gorgeous. He looked to be about my age…and by that I mean he looked his age, I've always looked like a thirteen-year-old girl dressed in doll clothes. His body was muscled, toned and he had a "solid" look to him. His hair was black, cut at mid-length, his curls falling messily every which way. His eyes were a hazel color; almost liquid and I felt I could get lost in them for hours. His skin was a dark olive and he sat upon his horse without a saddle, with a sort of confident authority I had little hope of every mimicking. He wore a dirty white, button-up shirt that was unbuttoned far lower than was necessary, jeans that were ripped and were a bit too tight and a short, stained dark apricot scarve around his neck. Usually, I can't stand dirty, ripped clothes, but on this specimen, they were eyecandy for me. His horse was a scrappy little thing, black except for three white socks, but he struck with me a wild toughness.

"Oh my God, are you okay?"

In a flash, the gorgeous cowboy dismounted from his horse, who stayed obidently behind nd scrambled over to me. He held out a hand, which I took and allowed him to pull me up.

I blinked. I had expected him to be tall, dark and handsome and while he more than exceled in the latter two, he was distinctly lacking in the height department, standing a couple of inches shorter than me, which isn't saying much—I'm not that tall, but I had just expected him to be lanky, that was all. Once I had got over the hobbit surprise, I notice there was a feather woven into his curls and his face held evidence of an almost otherworldly beauty.

"I…think so…" I said, still not letting go of his hand.

A little bit of backstory here. I, Kurt Hummel, am not, never have been and never wish to be a damsel in distress. Knights in shining armor are always a welcome sight, but please, I have my dignity. Come, save me, but know that I can handle it none-the-less. You don't have to keep moving, Junior, but it's no great loss if you do. The problem here was that I couldn't handle it, it would have been a great loss if he had kept moving and oh God, I was acting like a damsel now…an odd, strangled bundle of emotions welled up in my chest as I stared back into those gorgeous hazel eyes and tried to form at least one coherent thought, but the only thing that went through my mind was "he's so pretty".

_Damn it Kurt!_

I released his hand least I swoon…more than I already was. "Thanks…"

"Of course. I'm Blaine, by the way, what are you doing out here?"

"I was…herding cattle." I muttered. Blaine raised an eyebrow, forcing me to elaborate with the embarrasing truth. "And then I fell off my horse."

He tried to hide a smile. Anger and humiliation flushed through me, laced with the gushing thought of, "he's adorable when he smiles" running through my mind. His smile ultimately won.

"I can see that." He said, with a charming laugh and I could feel my heart jump in my chest. _No. He's straight. And even if he's not, this is Wyoming. Fucking Wyoming._ "He's seemed to have left you morooned on a Lakota Reservation, too." He added, with another smile. No! Not the smile!

"Huh?" I looked around, realizing for the first time that Blazer was nowhere to be seen. "Ahh, damn it! Wait…where am I?"

"You're just inside a Lakota Reservation." Blaine smiled, and his dark features, his small, tough horse, even the feather in his hair all made sense. Flashing back to watching _Spirit Stallion of the Cimarron_, I hadn't thought Little Creek to really be hot, but Ga Ga, if this was what young Lakota braves looked like, sign me up! Oh, right, but that left me where in relation to Smythe Ranch?

"I've got to get back!" I took a shaking step, barely suppressing a gasp of pain. "Do you know how to get back to Smythe Ranch?"

Blaine's eyes darkened and he looked away. It was a moment before he spoke.

"Yeah, I do, but it will take all night to go there on foot. I'll take you." He spoke tersely, darkly, not at all sounding excited at the idea of visiting my aunt and uncle's cattle ranch.

"How…? Oh…" I shivered as Blaine motioned to his horse, leading him up to me.

"Ready?" He grabbed my leg and heaved. I had no idea and wobbling dangerous, crying out in pain.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!" He apologized, quickly reaching out to steady me. "I'm so sorry! You okay?"

I nodded, biting back a groan.

"'Kay, do you trust me?"

I nodded, wordlessly before realizing what I had just done. I, Kurt Hummel, make a habit of not trusting people. Not only is it easier that way, but getting hurt is so much more unlikely. Yet, here was this stranger and I had willing lay my life down in his hands, but before I could say anything else, he grabbed me around my waist and lifted me, gracefully, onto his horse's back. I let out a squeak of surprise, but then relaxed into his touch and I felt oddly cold and alone when he let go of me. Another second and a grunt of effort later, I felt Blaine mount his horse behind me. Then arms, strong, comforting arms wrapped protectively around me in order to grip the reins. My heart was in my throat and my heart was thundering in my chest. What was I doing? I barely knew this guy and yet I couldn't get enough of his arms around me or his strong chest and what was undoubtedly a six-pack pressing into my back. Clucking to his horse, we started off at a walk through the trees.

"So, Kurt, you one of the Smythe kids?" He asked and I heard the dark tone creep back into his voice.

I shook my head, "I'm their cousin. I'm just here for the summer. Visiting before college."

"Oh," Blaine's voice seemed ever so slightly less dark, "Where from…and where to I guess?"

"I'm from Ohio, but I'm going to New York in late August." I grinned, the image of crowded streets and wealthy people in high fashion crossing the streets and barking into their cellphones. Honking car horns, street musicians and the clatter of silver spoons against fine china. Civilization.

"Ahh, city boy, I see."

"Yes sir! I'm going to study musical theater and hopefully end up on Broadway one day, but I also really like fashion and—" I stopped, unable to see his face, but realizing that this was probably boring him. "—What about you?" I stopped myself from asking what he was going to study in college, as I was getting that it was a rare achievement to even graduate from high school.

"I got my high school diploma last summer and I live on the reservation right now, and I work odd jobs as they come up…harvesting produce, herding cattle, ranch hand work, I like working with horses, mostly. College sounds really cool, though. I'd love to go, but I sure as hell can't afford it."

I nodded, but didn't say anything. Poor guy probably hadn't even heard of college until he was well into his high school career and his parents were no doubt poor as dirt. I was mostly relying on scholarships, student loans and money from my part-time job I had and what my dad had paid me for working in the shop. I was about to ask him what he would study, if he had the chance, but he didn't seem to want to talk about it, because he changed the subject.

"I'm going to make her canter so we can get you home before it's completely dark, okay?"

"Her?" I repeated. I had not considered that possibility, but I liked the idea of his horse being female. She had this image of being a strong, independent woman.

"Yeah, she's a mare. Shadow. Hopefully this shouldn't hurt too much."

He nudged Shadow into a canter and at first, she jolted my bruises, but her steady rolling gait didn't hurt as we rode into the darkening night in silence. The sun had almost completely set and the stars were starting to peep out as he guided the mare between the rapidly thinning trees and onto the plane, which no longer had a cow in sight. I had time to reflect that I was being held in the arms of a gorgeous Lakota boy, my cowboy, who was nothing but charming and sweet and hot and—no! The last thing I needed was to have another crush on an unattainable straight boy..in Wyoming. Fucking Wyoming. Finally, the barn and the horse loomed in front of us and I could just make out the figure of a chestnut Quarter Horse standing in a dooze outside of the barn. Blazer. Of course. Blaine brought Shadow to a halt outside of the house and helped me down.

"Well, feel better, see you aroun—"

"KURT!"

My dad slipped out of the slowing pickup truck and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug that made me yelp in pain.

"Kurt! You scared me kid! God…" He hugged me close again.

"Dad…painful…breathing…h—" I started to say "hair", but remembered mine was beyond damaged right now. My dad half released me before turning to Blaine and, overcome with gratitude, pulled him into a hug with his free arm. Blaine let out a grunt of surprise and stiffened, but didn't attempt to push him away. "You saved my kid's life!"

"It was—" Blaine started.

"Blaine?"

"You!"

Uncle Adrian and Sebastian had both appeared on the scene. Well, actually, the entire family, plus Finn and Carole, had materialized, seemingly out of thin air. Like a frightened deer, Blaine bolted and leaped onto his horse.

"I told you I never wanted to see you on my property again!" Uncle Adrian thundered.

"Kurt could have died out there!" Blaine shot back, clearly tense and Shadow seemed to share his emotions, suddenly alert and ready to run.

"You stay away from my nephew! You've already ruined my son!"

"If you'd just open your eyes and see—"

But Uncle Adrian pulled a handgun from the waistband of his jeans and without warning, fired into the air. Shadow squealed and Blaine turned his mare around and galloped away at top speed. He hadn't seemed frightened, persay, when he exchanged words with my uncle, but I was glad he so bravely turned his tail and fled. I liked him alive, thank you very much.

"Damned injin." He muttered, stowing away his gun.

I gasped, Finn looked slightly confused, but even he seemed to know enough history to properly place that word. My dad simply stared, his mouth hanging open.

"Don't use that word in my presence!" It was Carole, striding up to poke Adrian in the chest, who was so taken aback that a woman was challenging him that he was frozen in shock. "Ever!"

Adrian recovered enough to cross his arms, looking like an overgrown teenager. "I thought you were whitebread." He accused. "It doesn't matter, Adrian! You got it?"

Before he could answer, she strode into the house, slamming the door as she went.

The evening that followed was an uncomfortable one, involving Adrian doing a lot of yelling that he wouldn't allow a woman to tell him how to live his life, and certainly not under his own roof. This was accompanied by Dad rushing to Carole's defense, then Carole turning on him and telling him she could fight her own battles. Their offspring watched the fight like they were the lovechildren of bloodthirsty hyenas and ancient Roman spectators at the Colloseum watching gladiators fight for the death. Finn sat in the corner, looking embarrased and the night ended with aunt Helen making everyone dinner. This placated uncle Adrian and Carole enough for them to sit down and simply glare at each other across the table as the beef was served. Ugh, beef.

"No thanks, I'm vegetarian." I said, as aunt Helen made to set a plate down in front of me.

"WAIT?" uncle Adrian thundered from across the table.

"Vegetarian, it means he doesn't eat meat." Carole snapped, jumping at the opportunity.

"What sort of dumbass doesn't eat meat?" Roderick put in and uncle Adrian clapped him on the back.

Now, I've taken plenty of flack in my day for not eating meat, so I've got about a million witty comebacks up my sleeve and I knew just the one to put uncle Adrian back in a good mood.

"Of course I don't eat _the _meat…that would make me gay." I chuckled in the manliest way I could manage. Uncle Adrian froze for a minute, staring at me, then he broke out laughing and slapped me across the back.

"Right you are, Kurt!" He gestured in Sebastian's direction, still laughing, "Have you heard this guy, have you heard him?"

I grinned, smugly, enjoying my status as the goldenboy once again. It was true, after all. I was a cute baby peguin in reference to all things sexual and therefore, had not eaten the meat. In fact, such things were never even considered if I was hypothetically doing them. They were things that other people did to each other and I remained in my own, clean bed, flaunting my blissful ignorance, because…gross, just, _gross_.

And don't comment on an eighteen-year-old not being interested in sex. There is nothing wrong with me. I can be a virgin prude if I want…not that I have a choice. You know what, since you seem so fond of it…fuck you…and get someone else to do the fucking, or you do the fucking to someone else, 'cause frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

But, moving on, needless to say, dinner was tense and I ended up eting homemade bread and breakfast cereal with goat milk, which wasn't half-bad. My dad glared at me, disappointed at my selling out, again, after he had delibertly told me to be myself and guilt clenched in my stomach, so I did what any sensible teenager would do: I ran away. As soon as the table was excused, I limped up to my room.

…

The next day, I was excused from any heavy physical exercise and was allowed to sleep in, which, in Wyomingese, means I got to sleep until 8:00 in the morning. I dressed in my own clothes, and headed downstairs, where I quickly covered them in apron, as aunt Helen and Miranda put me to work cleaning the house and helping out in the kitchen. Apparently they thought that such tasks would put a damper on my manhood and send me back out into the fields, least I turn soft. Well, ladies, you have the wrong idea. I'm Kurt Elizabeth Hummel and I clean things. I cook things. I could not be more delighted to stay inside and rid the house of all its excess dirt. Of course, I would like it a lot more if we could have discussed the latest Alexander McQueen collection and bickered over with boy was the cutest, but afterall, I am in Wyoming. Fucking Wyoming.

In the absense of "girl-time", my mind wandered back to Blaine. The way his muscled legs gripped his horse, the way his curls fell into his eyes, the way his strong arms felt around me, the way he had lifted me so effortlessly, the way my uncle had shot at him, because, oh yeah, that's right, we're in the middle of Wyoming, (fucking Wyoming) where everyone is sexist and racist and homophobic…except Blaine didn't have to deal with that because he was straight. Yep. No gay in their right mind would live in his Fabulous-Forsaken place. And he didn't have to deal with the first item on the list either, because he was a man. A charming, cute, interesting, hot man who—_why_?

I busied myself with cleaning again and as I pulled the curtains back from the window by the front porch, I noticed something I hadn't before.

"Hey, does this piano work?" I called into the room.

"Good question honey." Aunt Helen called back. I pressed a key experiment. The rang out, full and beautiful, even though it already sounded greatly out of tune.

"Can I play it?"

"Sure honey."

I sat down at the bench, adjusting the height and placed my fingers on the keys with practiced ease. A pause. And then I started to play, my fingers flying over the keys as I played a Bach piece I had learned from memory. For a blissful, blissful few minutes, I was transported away to beautiful civilization again. I closed my eyes, not even mattering that the out-of-tune notes clanged into my ears. I was here, making art. Here, in the middle of Wyoming, (yes, _fucking_ Wyoming) creating something absolutely beautiful. I finished the piece and opened my eyes wit a resigned sigh, knowing what would have to go back to, but it was only to see my aunt and Miranda standing next to me, expressions of awe frozen on their faces.

"Kurt…that was beautiful." Miranda said, a smile on her face.

"Thanks." I brightened. Finally, the barbarians appreciated me for what I could do.

"That really was something." Aunt Helen confirmed.

I smiled. Finally, Wyoming was looking up. Fucking Wyoming.

…

It after dinner as settled into playing some Beethoven when I spotted Roderick through the window, mercilessly chasing Pavarotti around in the arena, a heavy Western saddle sitting on the fence and a whip in his hand. The beautiful Thoroughbred easily outran him, but his eyes widened in fear as Roderick caught him with the whip. I tensed and my fingers hit the wrong key, marring the piece as much as the whip was marring Pavarotti's delicate silver coat. My beautiful creature had spirit, though, and he kicked up his heels and ran until my cousin tired and he returned the horse to the barn.

"Damn pussy-horse." Roderick cursed as he entered the horse. He eyed me and how I was very obviously playing the piano.

"Gay." He spat, before leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Rebellious, eager thoughts. Every time he had come close to touching Pavarotti my blood had boiled and I had had to look away. Roderick was too rough, too crude, too unbearably ordinary to be accepted by an animal as beautiful as Pavarotti. No, Pavarotti did not belong to any human. He should be treated not as a beast, but as equal and if anyone was going to ride him, he would have to give them permission. And so, when the time came, I crept up to my bed and pretended to be asleep before I shimmied into a pair of my own skinny jeans and a stylish dress shirt and a cream-colored coat. Pavarotti was refined and cultured, I could trust him not to ruin my designer clothes. And with that, I sneaked out of the house and out into the night.


	4. The Truth About Horse Whispering

**A/N: I would like to point out that I am fully aware of all the innuendo that is innocently rushing through Kurt's mind. I would like to have him notice it, but he's still in his "about as much sexual experience and knowledge as a baby penguin" stage and therefore, he doesn't really know the proper application of "that's what she said" jokes. Other than that, warnings for this chapter include the usual swearing and snarky Kurt stream-of-consciousness and the appearance of a gun. Also, there is some poverty. It might be awhile until the next installment, so hang in there guys! Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

I picked my way to the barn guided by the full moon, not trusting myself to use a flashlight. Uncle Adrian was surely creepy enough to standing next to his bedroom window, watching me and I didn't doubt that Roderick would jump at the chance to catch me sneaking around at night with no clear explanation why. I settled that if I was caught, I would have a sudden but severe case of sleepwalking and I hoped that Sebastian would back me up, based on the laborious task of waking me up every morning, which had gotten a lot less easy with every passing day. I shivered as I heard what I thought was a distant wolf howl, which was replaced by a chorus of his fellows. Images of the latest movie of the _Twilight Saga_ flashed through my head and I felt a mix of fear and excitement course through me. The last thing I wanted was to be torn to pieces by a rabid werewolf, but that Taylor Lautner…yeah, Blaine definitely topped as far as man-beauty went. Maybe I just had a thing for dark-skinned boys with incredibly abs?

_Kurt, focus!_

Yeah, I needed to stop letting my testosterone go to my head when I'm working my night job as Horse Whisper Extraordinaire.

I slipped through the barn door after the Herculean effort of opening the heavy material enough to slip through. See, I'm sort of a small guy and though I look like Adonis, I don't have the muscles, so wrestling with the thing was some task, but I didn't need much space. When I was through, I felt my way through the darkness. The moon could no longer help me in full force and it was completely dark. I stumbled over something mushy on the floor and I cringed. This probably meant that I would be scrubbing horse manure off of my boots before I could get to sleep later. Well, so much for the "I shall creep through the darkness and no one shall ever guess I was there" plan. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to light my way and I barely covered my mouth in time to stifle the shriek as I saw that what I had tripped over was a lot worse than horseshit.

A giant opossum lay dead on the floor, a slight dent in the body, as if a giant horse had stepped on it, which was probably what had happened. The head was smashed in and a pool of blood and…insides, I guess, was puddled beneath the corpse of the dead creature. Biting back the urge to hurl right then and there, I skirted around the dead opossum and continued on my way, trying not to think about what I just seen. Maybe my phone was a bad idea after all.

I reached Pavarotti's stall without event after that. My beautiful creature was standing there, watching me, no doubt awoken by my entrance and I felt pleased at that. My horse was alert and aware of his surroundings. A smile crossed my face as I held out a hand toward him.

"Hey boy…"

But he shield away. He wasn't terrible alarmed, but he didn't want me to touch him. I shrank away, disappointed, but brightened with the thought that my horse knew better than to blindly trust his human soulmate, even though it was destiny (and a very uncomfortable plane trip with complimentary Finn drool) had brought us together. No matter, I would just have to take this slower than I had planned.

"Hey boy, it's okay." I said, grabbing a handful of the greenest, freshest hay I could find and holding it out to him. He looked at me with almost a disdainful look. I leaned against his stall door and gazed up at him, my eyes feasting over his slick silver coat, over every dapple and curve of his breath-taking body. "Look boy, I know you had a rough night with Roderick, but I promise, I'm nothing like him. It's embarrassing that we're even related. So come here, please? I promise, I promise I won't hurt you."

The Thoroughbred just looked at me, unimpressed.

I stood there for about an hour and a half, crooning to him, pleading with him, assuring him that I wouldn't lay a malicious finger on him, no response. As the clock edged toward midnight, I fought the frustrated tears that were filling my eyes, spilling over against my will. He was my horse! We were supposed to understand each other! I was supposed to be the only person he would ever let ride him! But nothing was going according to plan, so I just stood there, defeated, crying on his stall door while he stood as far away from me as possible, unimpressed.

And then I felt warm breath blowing on my face and I peeped through my arms that were covering my face to see Pavarotti, his neck stretched out, his flaring nostrils not even an inch away from my forearm and I grinned up at him, too scared to laugh for fear of sending him back to the other end of the stall. After a moment, I carefully stretched my hand out toward him and he sniffed me warily, snorting. I kept things at that comfortable distance for a few minutes, my arm aching from being frozen in that position before I reached out to touch him.

The moment we made physical contact, the breath caught in both our throats, both in shock. I could see as his entire body shifted, nervous, but he did not move away. Slowly, I began stroking his velvet nose. I smiled, then I giggled. He breathed out slowly.

When I finally slipped out of the barn, I felt like skipping back up to bed and whooping so loud that I could be heard in my beloved New York. He loved me back! That was all I could think about as I tip-toed back into my room and I got into bed I was still in too good of a mood to reflect on how if I could only say the same thing for human boys. It was then that I came to the conclusion that ever rural teenage girl was right: horses were a lot better than boys.

For the next few days, I made steady progress with Pavarotti and my bruises were healing nicely. I pitched in with chores and played piano, which seemed to delight everyone but Roderick, who still insisted that pushing keys that would in turn touch down on strings was inherently of a homosexual nature. I will never understand how or why, but I was treated to a terse, "gay" every time I was seated by the instrument. I ignored him gloriously and bit down on my lip every time he terrorized my beautiful creature. Little by little, Pavarotti trusted me, even after Roderick ran him in circles in an attempt to "break him in". My horse was not something that was going to be broken anyway. Any fool knows you don't break pretty things, but of course, I couldn't say anything for fear of suspicion…or worse.

Mornings were tough. Sebastian almost had to hit me over the head with the butt of his rifle. Yes, Sebastian keeps guns in his closet…along with what I suspect sexual orientation. Since I got here, I've been picking up clues that my world-class gaydar cannot ignore, like the fact that out of all the sons, Adrian doesn't give him the time of day that he does the others. He always looks at Sebastian with a disappointed look on his face and he doesn't address him by any nicknames as he does the other boys. He looks at him the same way he looks at Jenny: like he can't quite fathom that he gave half of his DNA to someone who isn't quite right, a mistake, an embarrassment to his precious genes. And even my love-drunk, injured state, I wasn't one to ignore what had taken place between him and Blaine that night. Even Aunt Helen wasn't crazy about Sebastian, so either he was a crime lord in town or a homosexual, and I would put my money on the second option. Granted, as good as my gaydar is, I've been known to make some drastic mistakes in the past, but most of them were the products of wishful thinking and this time, I wasn't after a boyfriend prospect. If anything, he'd be my competition, but it wouldn't be like we'd have much to fight over anyway. Gay boys didn't live here. This is Wyoming. Fucking Wyoming. Besides, as much as I'd be proud to have another gay man in the family, I felt so sorry for him already that a part of me didn't want him to be gay for his sake. But the selfish part of me did…and didn't. It was a strange mix, so I concerned myself more with his kind-hearted manhandling methods used for getting me out of bed in the mornings. And so, after one such morning, I groaned and trudged to the door, morning hygiene bag in hand, ready to go down the hall and fight for control of the bathroom…not that the barbarians used it for more than visits to the toilet. Indeed, Finn was far too overjoyed with the prospect of not showering for days on end for my liking, but I would address that later. I stifled a yawn as I shut the door to the bedroom with a snap and without warning, came nose-to-nose with my dad.

"Oh…" I said, instantly more awake as the familiar feeling of guilt went straight to my stomach. "Hi Dad."

"Kurt, you promised."

I let out my best teenage sigh.

"Now I know he's said a few homophobic things, but quite frankly, I'm disappointed in you. You spent four years standing up for yourself and rising above the bullies every time they tried to knock you down…and now you're letting someone who you're a lot closer to get away with intimidating you just because he's never met someone as extraordinary as you."

"Dad, I—"

"And kiddo, the moment he says one homophobic toward you, I will jump on him and tear him apart. I just know that you're stronger than this. I don't expect you to parade around in rainbows and unicorns, but for God's sake, stop backing down like a kicked puppy. Since when have you cared about pleasing people?"

Anger reared up within me, mixed with a healthy dose of lingering guilt. How dare he? How dare he? First he drags me out to Wyoming (fucking Wyoming) and then he expects me to parade my blatant gay-ness in front of my ignoramus of an uncle? It was my sexuality, damn it!

"That's not fair! First you tell me to be careful and not to wear form-fitting sweaters because people might give me a hard time and then you inform me that I have to put the fact that I like boys on display, for all the world to see? My homosexuality doesn't define who I am, Dad!"

Without realizing it, my voice had been rising with every word that had flown from my mouth and the door opened as Sebastian popped his head through, his eyebrows disappearing until his messy morning bangs. I bristled at my father one last time before stomping to the bathroom and slamming the door.

…..

My dad and I feel into a comfortable pattern of what we call "not speaking" over the course of the next day and once everyone was asleep, I sneaked out of the horse and down to see Pavarotti. I entered his stall and slung myself against his warm body, sobbing tears into his silver coat. At first he flinched at my touch, but then craned his head around and nickered, comfortingly. I didn't want to fight with my dad, I didn't want to hide who I was and I didn't want to be stuck in the middle of wasteland filled with homophobes and…Blaine…except Blaine was gay and probably a homophobe along with all the barbarians. This hypothetical assumption put me into an even worse mood. I did not want to imagine the possibilities of Blaine being a homophobe as much as I wanted to get my hopes up that he might like boys, even if a little. After awhile, I stopped crying. I felt better, even though I was still a bit pissed off. I wanted to do something, damn it. I looked at my horse and he gently sniffed my palm and my eyes traveled up to his empty back. I should be up there. I needed to be up there. Why not tonight? Slowly, I moved to the wall and Pavarotti followed me. Lodging one foot against the wood of his stall, I slowly, slowly pulled myself onto his back, murmuring comforting things to my horse and stroking his neck as he nervously stood there.

Finally, finally, I straightened up. I was there! I did it! I was sitting on my horse for the first time. A grin engulfed my face as I reached for his mane.

"Good boy!" I encouraged.

And without warning, he leaped in the air and I slid off his back and landed on the ground with a soft thud. Disappointment, far more painful than any physical pain I was experiencing seeped through me as tears leaked from my eyes again. I thought we understood each other. Pavarotti wasn't bucking or freaking out; he merely nuzzled me quizzically, as if he didn't know why I had done a face-plant into his bedding. I started to cry in earnest then. If I couldn't ride Pavarotti, who could? Who was I kidding? I didn't know what I was doing. All my knowledge was based on movies that were probably inaccurate. How was I supposed to figure out how to train a horse, I didn't know how to even ride without falling off, let alone train my beautiful creature.

But I knew someone who did.

"Goodnight boy." I said, giving Pavarotti a kiss on the nose. I was still pissed at him for dumping me so unceremoniously, but his nuzzling me while I lay sobbing on the ground had warmed my heart to him again. I exited his stall and strode off, this time to another horse's stall. I worked quickly, saddling him with fumbling fingers in the darkness.

Fifteen minutes later, I was riding Blazer into the darkness, traveling as far away from the house that I could before pushing him into the canter. The full moon lit my way again as I headed for the trees. It wasn't until I was deep within their midst that I realized my mistake.

I had no idea where I was going. I had only found my way to the reservation in the first place because Blazer had spooked and galloped blindly through the trees. I was not inclined to being jolted around in the saddle at break-neck speed and then being thrown from the saddle onto the rocks, so I opted for the less extreme option of letting Blazer lead the way. The horse obliged and after what felt like a year, he was traveling down a rocky slope. Ahead, there were a collection of a few run-down trailers and even a few cheap, decrepit houses. I made to turn Blazer around before I realized that the images of teepees and wigwams must have been romanticized by the movies. This was not a pretty sight at all, in fact, it was depressing. These people lived in poverty, not harmony with nature.

A light flicked on in a trailer in front of me and Blazer stopped, his head snapping up as a boy with wild curly hair immerged from the door, holding a long object in his hand that looked suspiciously like a gun.

"Blaine?"


	5. Pieces of Harmony

**A/N: It's the long-awaited next chapter! Yaayyyy! Please read and review, as usual. I have a pretty good idea of where this story is going, but if you guys have anything you want to see/suggestions, I'd love to hear them! I can't promise I'll use them, but if I can incorporate them, I will! Constructive criticism is always welcome, of course. Reviews are forever appreciated! Thank you! And I know this is early in the game, but if there are any fan-artists out there who find my story worthy, by all means, please illustrate. I would be so happy. Anyway, thanks for reading and enjoy!**

"Blaine? Is that you? Blaine?" My voice caught in my throat as the silhouetted figure stepped further out and revealed himself to not be Blaine. Even though I had only seen him once, I knew what Blaine looked like and this man wasn't Blaine. His hair, though still curly, wasn't as curly as Blaine's. He had a taller, more supple-looking figure and smoother facial features, even from what I could see in the dark. No, I haven't been daydreaming about Blaine's beautiful face for days and this is _not_ the time to discuss this.

"Blaine?" I squeaked. I could feel Blazer tense beneath me. Oh, brilliant. The figure cocked his gun with one hand and pointed toward the dark horizon with the other.

"Get out." He growled, raising his weapon ever-so-slightly in warning.

In answer, I squeaked and pummeled Blazer's sides with my feet, kicking him for all I was worth; urging him to move, but the nag stood still, staring stupidly at the man with the gun, a gun that was steadily rising. I how I hated that horse just then. Stupid, fucking—

"What's going on?" A pour light flicked on with a buzz and Blaine, breathtaking Blaine, stood in the doorway next to the man with the gun, who he did indeed bear a striking resemblance to. "…Kurt?"

"Blaine?" I half-sobbed.

"Cooper, put the gun down!" Blaine was already down the steps and was stroking Blazer's neck and looking concernedly into my eyes. Even through the previous danger, I could feel my heart flutter somewhere in the region of my tonsils; he really was gorgeous. In fact, gorgeous didn't even begin to cover it, he was—

"Kurt, you okay? I'm so sorry." He shot a reproachful glare at the man named Cooper, who had put his gun down and was watching the proceedings, his face no longer hostile, but still cautious.

"I…think s—I'm fine." I said, remembering that the last thing I wanted was for Blaine to think that I was a damsel in distress, even though every time he showed up my life seemed to be in danger.

"Come inside." Blaine coaxed, steadying Blazer as I dismounted clumsily. I stumbled backwards on impact with the ground, but Blaine caught me with strong arms. My heart jumped into my throat at his touch and I shivered to feel warm breath on the back of my neck. Blaine led Blazer away behind his run-down trailer and I was left to stare up at the menacing figure of Cooper…alone…without Blaine. I shivered, quailed and otherwise acted like the adult man my ID card said I was.

"So…nice night?" I tried.

"Sweltering." He shot back, which explained his wife-beater and shorts. I was normally attracted to a man with a lean, toned set of muscles. Not grossly over-ripped, but just strong-looking and solid, but Cooper's body did nothing but frighten me. I felt like Little Red Riding Hood at the bedside of the Wolf in disguise as she gushed over his muscles, to which his reply was 'all the better to kick your ass with, my dear'.

"Yes…sweltering…are you Blaine's—?"

"Brother. Big Brother." That much was obvious. "How'd you meet him? You his boyfriend, or something?" His tone was distrusting, accusatory.

"I'm not—"

And then Blaine appeared mercifully and Cooper disappeared into the trailer. Blaine guided me up the rundown steps and through the door with another one of those knee-weakening smiles of his. Once inside, I observed that the trailer looked much worse for wear inside than out. The light was accompanied by a loud buzzing sound and the wallpaper was peeling from the walls. There was one trailer, which was stained and cracked and the kitchen, which appeared ill-stocked and tiny. The drivers' seats were ripped at the wheel was missing all together and everything was punctuated by a giant, cracked windshield that was mended with a lot of duct tape. There was a small fan set up, whirring relentlessly and a bed at the end of the trailer that I assumed both of them shared. Not to be racist, but right now, a buffalo-skin teepee would be a palace by comparison.

"I know it's not much, but it's home." I turned to Blaine and beamed. To this day, I'm not exactly sure what was wrong with me, but I found it all, the seedy trailer, the brother armed with a gun, the cracked windshield, so beautifully, desperately romantic and I wanted to throw my arms around his neck, kiss him passionately and ride off into the sunset. Right then and there.

_Woah, Kurt, woah…_

Like I said, I need a visit to the brain-o-practor to get a wandering thoughts adjustment. Really, it's annoying…oh shut up, self, he's perfect.

Cooper started bustling about making coffee while Blaine and I sat down at the small table. It, like the entire trailer, through poverty-worthy, was still very clean. Of course, I attributed this to Blaine, which made me fall even more in love with him…I mean like…fall in love with the _idea_ of falling in love with him. Falling in love with straight boys in Wyoming (fucking Wyoming with all of its heterosexuals fucking each other) would be problematic and folks, my life is already plenty complicated as it is.

"So, how'd you end up on the reservation in the middle of the night this time?" Blaine asked, kindly, as Cooper unceremoniously shoved a mug of coffee in front of me and sat down to cockblock me…because, once again, I _totally _have a habit of sexually harassing straight guys.

"I was…looking for you…"

Cooper's eyebrows shot up. Blaine blinked, non-plussed, then he gave an uncertain smile. Butterflies were caught in a typhoon in my stomach.

"Oh?"

"Yes." I confirmed, stupidly. "See, I need your help."

I told him about Pavarotti and what we had been working on together. Blaine listened, intently, interrupting here and there to clarify a point or correct my terminology. Cooper listened much too intently. When I had finished, Blaine looked at me, an apologetic hint in his hazel eyes, I could get lost in for hours and…I forced myself to snap back to reality.

"Kurt, training a horse is…difficult and requires a lot of time and…experience." He said, choosing his words carefully.

"Yeah, you need to be able to actually _ride_." Cooper added.

"Cooper!" Blaine glared reproachfully at his brother. "Kurt, how much riding experience did you get back home?"

My head fell and for one glorious moment, a daring tale of horsemanship since birth sprang into my head, but I brushed the fantasy aside. What I needed was help…and for Blaine not to think I was a compulsive liar, or something.

"I rode the ponies at the fair when I was little…a pony came to my princess birthday party when I was five." Shit, I didn't mean to say it was a princess birthday party. Now Cooper was going to know I was gay and really hate me and Blaine would get uncomfortable because he was straight and drama would happen and…

"I'm afraid that's not enough." Blaine said, an apologetic smile on his face. I nodded, glumly. "But it's not like your, well, interesting riding, is a permanent thing."

I stared at him, non-plussed.

"I mean, I could teach you."

"Blaine!" Cooper and I both spoke at the same time, in completely different tones of voice, but I didn't even care that the elder man was glowering again. A huge smile had spread across my face as I gazed at Blaine. Riding lessons with Blaine weren't exactly my definition of civilized, but they were the promise of something I valued above civilized activities: romance. The promise of a rustic romance I with a straight boy that I would never have. Still, I wasn't backing away from that offer.

"You would do that…for me?"

"Of course," He said, ignoring his brother. "We can work here, behind our trailer. We won't be able to use your Pavarotti or the horse you brought tonight, but I have a couple horses you can learn to ride on."

I grinned stupidly, the table being the only thing that prevented me from enveloping Blaine in a hug and never letting go. Well, the table and the menacing Cooper. "Thank you!" I squeaked.

"You're welcome." He said softly, and for one glorious moment, our eyes met and I let myself be lost in his beautiful face. Of course, Cooper ruined things by announcing how late it was and how they needed to get sleep and so Blaine mounted his horse and accompanied me back through the woods to the border of Smythe Ranch. Blaine bid me goodnight before disappearing, his black horse blending into the night and I turned in, my head spinning.

…

My lessons with Blaine happened whenever I could get away for a few hours. My uncle had me herding cattle with the rest of them and doing chores like a slave, but I told him that I had developed a habit of "trail riding" and "exploring" and I'd saddle Blazer and head for the reservation, where I'd meet Blaine and we'd work.

Here's the deal, horseback riding is intensely painful. I mean, normally it's painful enough, but when it's done property, forget about functioning without Tylenol. Blaine had me most the time bareback aboard one of his scrappy, flighty mustangs. He started me off on the basics, steering me away from the Native American trick riding I had seen in the movies, saving it "for maybe later". Between you and me, I'm starting to think that the awesome tricks were invented by Hollywood and Photoshop. I find this to be depressing, but I'll cry over it later. Apart from riding, Blaine had me learning to care for horses, to pick out their feed, how to feed them properly and how to look for injuries or illnesses. One day, he even had me learn to jump. Blaine was a good teacher, probably more patient than he should have been and seemingly impervious to my series of bitch-fits, but he was also oblivious, for I was falling deeper and deeper in love with him every day.

Why do I keep falling in love with straight boys? He'll ultimately reject me when he finds out because he likes boobs and then we'll become related by marriage and he'll start dating one of my close friends and declare her his soulmate. Then I, Kurt Hummel, will end up being alone forever, which explains my love and hatred of romance.

But enough about my totally-not-obsession with Blaine Anderson. I seemed to be getting pretty good. At least, I wasn't falling off as often and my balance was improving. Little by little, it felt good—right to be on top of a horse and I was able to ride more effectively at faster and faster speeds. Moreover, my body was transforming—lean muscle was developing all over my body, most prominently in my arms, legs, back and abs. They weren't Blaine-worthy abs, but they were a start and I was proud of them, once again, nothing compare to Blaine, but—no, I certainly do _not_ have an obsession with him…at least…not an unhealthy obsession.

….

One warm afternoon I was returning from a lesson with Blaine and I had barely sat down at the piano, running my fingers over the keys, daydreaming about Blaine when I felt someone tap me on my shoulder and I turned around to see Miranda, grinning from ear to ear with a girl about her age in tow. The newcomer was pretty…for a girl, I guess. A classic beauty with long dark brown hair, almost electric blue eyes and perfectly applied makeup.

"Hi Kurt." She said, in a tone that suggested mischief of the cruelest kind. "This is Harmony," She gestured to the brunette girl, "She's a friend of mine. She just graduated high school."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Kurt, Miranda's cousin." I said, pleasantly holding out my hand to her, but Harmony was having none of it. Instead, she pulled me into an awkward hug, as I was still sitting on the piano and I made the mistake of opening my eyes long enough to see her boobs inches from my face. Ugh, did not need that picture. Wriggling free, I smiled at her politely.

"She'll be staying for dinner." And with that, Miranda disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Harmony. As much as I was unappreciated of her mammary system, I rather liked girls…as friends. I tended to have more in common with girls than guys (shopping, hair, musicals, boys) and this one in particular was built like a model and I wanted to take her shopping and work my fashion magic. I was not against having a girl friend (notice the space between the words "girl" and "friend") while I was living with the barbarians, but when Harmony opened her mouth, I retracted that wish faster than you could say "Prada".

"Miranda says you're from Ohio, but that you're going to New York. I love the big city, but I've never been, but I want to go soooo bad. I especially want to go to Las Vegas and Hollywood. Are you going to be an actor one day? That's so cool! My dad thinks acting is gay, but I don't think so. Actors are hot. Especially Brad Pitt. He's really hot. Did you know you look a lot like Brad Pitt? Do you play piano? I love piano? Pianos are sexy. You know the only thing sexier than pianos?" She stopped and leaned in close before breathing out the last word in a whisper, her emphasis on the innuendo. "Peee-i-nists."

I froze and swallowed hard. Oh. So that was why Miranda had left us alone. That was why she had pressed her breasts into me. That's why she was so interested in talking to me. By the way, I SO do not look like Brad Pitt and seeing as it was coming from her as a means of hitting on me, I am going to take it as an insult. Nothing against Brad Pitt, but he's just so…straight.

Over the next few hours, I became an expert on inventing excuses to be on my own and perfected my ninja hiding skills. I spent a lot of time in the bathroom allegedly being sick and I took several showers. I tried every stereotypical gay thing I knew of: I talked about fashion and musicals non-stop, I styled my hair in front of her, changed my outfit seventeen times, each one more flamboyant than the last. I sang Lady GaGa songs, danced to Adam Lambert, cried over a Disney movie, gushed over Team Jacob, proclaimed Madonna's musical genius, talked at length about yoga and even went on about interior design for awhile. And yet, despite all my efforts, Harmony twisted every attempt I made of revealing my blatant homosexuality into a sexual advance on my part. By the time dinner rolled around, she was clutching my hand on top of the table.

Finn was eyeing this with confusion, Carole and looking concerned, my Dad was thinking nothing of it, for once. I had effeminate friendships with many girls and holding hands with one was something we were both used to. Adrian was looking impossibly proud, Miranda smug and the family at large seemed pleased by Harmony's and my perceived "sudden closeness". Roderick was an asshole as usual and for some reason, Sebastian was looking incredibly relieved. Aunt Helen kept making noises as to how cute we were "together". I'm sorry, but I believe I'm the only cute one in this equation: Harmony might have the looks to qualify as "cute", but she tossed any potential "cuteness" out of the window the moment she opened her mouth. When dinner mercifully ended, I rushed back up to my room, telling Harmony that I had been overcome with a sudden, inexplicable urge to vomit and, ignoring her comment on how she found vomiting sexy, I rushed up the stairs and shut myself in my room. I threw myself face-first onto my bed and groaned. I hate when straight girls can't catch a clue. My best friend Mercedes had gotten a crush on me when we had first started hanging out and was disappointed to the point of vandalizing my car, but once I told her I was gay, she not only understood, but was the first person to support me. This girl was just…insufferable.

"Kurt baby?"

I nearly really did vomit into my pillow as I heard Harmony's voice through the door. Baby? Since when had I become "baby"? I heard a knock and sat up straight as a board. I was not going to have her invade my bedroom again.

"Kurtie, are you okay?"

She had been calling me "Kurtie" all day. I hate that nickname. No one gets to use it, not even my dad.

"Kurtie, I'm coming in."

In a flash, I was up off the bed and headed for the first hiding place I could spot: my closet. I shut the doors just in time as Harmony stepped into the room.

"Kurt baby, I know you're here sugar-muffin." I peered through the slats to see Harmony rooting through my things: my two suitcases, my bedside table, under my bed, even through Sebastian's things. She butchered my name and paired it alongside sappy pet names until a horrible, horrible moment when the doors of the closet rattled ominously and she threw open the doors.

"Kurtie baby! I found you!"

She wrapped her arms around my neck and I lost my balance and fell against the back of the closet. She giggled and stuck one leg in the air as I struggled to right myself, which I did, with difficulty. I couldn't take it anymore. She was stroking my face and pressing her body into mine.

"Harmony…it's not like I don't appreciate your interest in me and you're really nice and very pretty, but I—" I felt her hand wander down my back and for one moment, angels sang in my hand as she removed said hand. Then I felt it return and my eyes widened as I felt her firmly attach it to my ass. I panicked, violently lurching away from her and stumbling, quite literally, out of the closet.

"I'm gay." I stated, trying to keep my breathing even, holding my hands in defeat. I was facing her, my back to Sebastian's bed, which was closest to the closet.

For a moment, her face was blank, but then she smiled and advanced towards me in one swoop. "We can fix that problem." She said, softly.

I wriggled away from her.

"It's not a problem. I like being gay, okay? And no amount of cleavage is ever going to change that. In fact, it'll only make me gayer."

In response, the harpy cooed and ran a hand through my hair. That was it. No, no one touches my hair. _No one_. My hair is a sacred thing and no one shall violate the shrine that I make of it. I squirmed in an attempt to get away from her, but only ended up on Sebastian's bed.

"I'm gay, okay? Gay! Homosexual. I like men. I'm a fruit. A fairy. A flaming queen. I'm absolutely fabulous. Gay diddity gay gay gay. And I like liking boys and—" I let out a squeal of shock. A hand was cupping my crotch as Harmony squirmed on top of me. She was moving fast and even as I struggled to free myself, she was ripping off her clothes, her clothing flying left and right. Her skirt went flying and I did all I could to bite back a scream of terror as she went to unbuckle her bra. Renewed strength coursed through me at the thought of seeing her breasts and in a Herculean effort, I pushed her off me and ran for the door, not waiting for as she called after me.

"HEY EVERYONE, I'M GAY! GGGAAAAYYYY!" I screeched, tumbling down the stairs and flying through the house. "GGGAAAAYYYY!"

My aunt and uncle watched me, confused. Finn merely raised his eyebrows before returning to his laptop. Sebastian just looked at me as I skidded to a stop in the kitchen. Jenny and Roderick both stared at me with hostile expressions. Miranda just looked embarrassed.

"Hi everyone, I'm gay." I announced, brightly, as if I was merely commenting on the weather.

There was a moment, then Adrian exploded into ruckus laughter. Jenny and Roderick joined in. Finn looked up, confused.

"No, really, I'm gay." I said, my hands on my hips.

"That's brilliant Kurt. No wonder the ladies are all over you. Telling them you're gay. Absolutely brilliant!" Adrian laughed, approvingly, before going back to his newspaper.

"Um…he's really gay." Finn said. "Haven't you noticed?" He had put his computer down and I felt a rush affection for him. He might have been as dumb as a doorknob, but Finn would protect me to the death, if he had to…and I would do the same for him in a heartbeat. Adrian was sputtering with laughter for a minute, but when neither Finn nor I suddenly broke character and confirmed that my self-proclaimed homosexuality was a joke, he stopped laughing and looked at me disbelievingly.

"But…you can't be gay! How can someone so awesome be gay?"

"Um…Neil Patrick Harris? He just keeps getting more awesome." Finn added and I fought back a smile. "Besides, why can't you be both? Kurt's awesome and he's gay."

"But that's disgusting! And it's against God's will! You!" He suddenly turned on Sebastian. "You talked him into this! You ruined his life! You poisoned him!"

Finally, my faulty gaydar was paying off. Sebastian was gay and for the first time in my life, I felt bad for someone because they were gay. Actually, I just felt bad that he had just such a dickhead for a father.

"I came out when I was sixteen!" I said, before Sebastian could open his mouth. "My dad knew since I was six!"

"Yeah, he had a crush on me too!" Finn bragged, raising his hand. Funny how he had come to love me so unconditionally, even if not in the way I had originally intended, and with that love, he had become unconditionally comfortable with me.

"WHAT?" Adrian thundered, turning to Finn.

"True story." I added, striding over to him. "But we're brothers now, so it's not weird."

"Oh Kurtie!"

Harmony had appeared, fully dressed (thank GaGa) and reaching for me. Instinctively, I hid behind Finn.

"She tried to rape me!"

"Kurtie baby!"

"Get away from my brother!"

"You're poisoned, you're unnatural!"

"I'm so embarrassed."

"This is _so_ gay."

"I'm leaving!"

Harmony had launched herself at me. Finn had caught her just in time and I made a run for it, sprinting and out the door. I ran into the barn, planning to hide, but I was in a state of shock due to overexposure to breasts and my mind was running on autopilot. I reached for a bridle, mounted a horse and set off for the reservation in the gathering dark. When I got there, I pounded on Blaine's door and fell into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably in frustration, loneliness, shock and suppressed feelings of unrequited love. He held me close and rubbed my back, letting me babble unintelligibly to him until I calmed down. Finally, he helped me sit down on the front steps of his trailer, his arm around me and looked me in the eyes.

"Kurt…what happened?"

"I…nearly raped…by a girl…she didn't respect that I'm…my mom and dad are out on a date and my relatives don't respect that…that…"

I couldn't do it, couldn't tell him. Blaine had become my best friend out here in Wyoming (motherfucking Wyoming!) and like the rest of this gay-forsaken state, he would probably become uncomfortable and reject me as soon as he found out I liked boys. I hiccupped and snuggled into his shoulder as I racked my brains for a suitable lie. I squeaked as Blaine pulled me into a sudden bear-hug.

"It's okay Kurt. I'm gay too." I froze against his body. "I understand."

He wasn't rejecting me! He understood what it was like! He was hugging me! And I officially have the worst gaydar in the world for someone so gay, because he likes boys too! I felt like crying all over again, but I bit my lip and threw my arms around him, holding him tight and not letting him go. I clung to him desperately, taking deep breaths and willing myself not to spill tears of another emotion.

"Th—thank you." I finally managed.

"Of course, Kurt." He didn't move away for a long moment and the next words to leave his lips were just as shocking.

"That's quite the horse."

I moved enough to peep through Blaine's protective arms. His dapple gray coat shimmered in the sunset light, his eyes bright and intelligent as he stood there, proud, waiting for me.

"Pavarotti…"


	6. Two Spirit

**Author's Note: Hey guys! I'm so, so sorry I haven't updated in so long. College was dominating my life, but now it's summer, so yay, here's the next chapter! Once again, I don't own anything and warnings for this chapter include: fluffy, heart-warming discussions about what it's like to LBGTQ. I probably suck a little, as a writer, in this chapter, as I haven't been writing in this form for awhile, but it felt good to get some of my philosophies of what it's like off my chest. So enjoy and PLEASE REVIEW! Thank you!**

As much as I didn't want to disentangle myself from Blaine's embrace, (sweet, wonderful, sexy—GAY Blaine!) I had to take care of the prize Thoroughbred I had apparently ridden pell-mell through the Wyoming plains. So, relunctantly, I pulled free and took shakey steps down to meet my silver dappled beauty. Slowly, quietly, I carrassed Pavarotti, my fingers stroking his velvet muzzle, his satin coat, all the way up to his ears. He stood there quietly, trusting me. I smiled softly to myself, still in a state of shake as I bent down to check each of his legs for injury, swelling or heat, as Blaine had taught me. I had just announced to the entire house that I like boys, had just all-out ridden Pavarotti for the first time, discovered that Blaine likes boys too and had been held by the very same boy, the boy who I was head over heels for. No, I wasn't on emotional overload at all. Nope, just fine. I didn't feel like falling over and sobbing and laughing and screaming all at once at all. But I didn't. All I did was straighten up and give Blaine the thumbs up.

"Let's get him in the barn." Was all he said, and wordlessly, I followed him, leading my beauty behind me. I'm sure the thoughts would be racing through my head in a minute, but just then, my brain was too numb for any actual thoughts.

I untacked Pavarotti in silence while Blaine was watched and I only turned around to face him when I had my beauty carefully stowed away. My breath caught in my throat, as it often did when I was around Blaine. No matter how many times I saw him, his beauty never failed to amaze me.

"Kurt…we talk. Loft?"

Wordlessly, I nodded. I had never been in Blaine's loft before and I felt an odd mix of excitement and calm settling over me, but hell if I could understand my own emotions anymore. Without a word, I followed Blaine upstairs to his loft, where he had never taken me before. And yes, I _did_ look at his ass, okay? As sex-phobic as I am, it doesn't change the fact that I am still a teenage boy and if the boy of your dreams was swinging his ass in front of you up a flight of stairs, wouldn't you sneak a glance or two?

My eyes were suddenly drawn away from Blaine's impeccable ass as we entered his loft. It was mostly filled with hay, as I expected it to be, but Blaine had left a few Blaine-ish touches…touches that I had not expected to find and I perked up instantly at what I saw.

There was were weapons on the walls: a tawmohawk, a Lakota bow and a quiver of arrows, a headdress, dreamcatchers and many ornaments adorned with feathers and beads. There were knives and even a couple of guns—a rifle and a pistol. A battery-powered lamp hung from the ceiling and Blaine crossed to flip it on and It further illuminated his loft. Then there was the unexpected stuff—a Star-of-David flag, posters from Disney movies, what looked suspiciously like a guitar case leaning against a few hay bales almost out of sight and a rainbow flag displayed proudly across the center. It was so Blaine and revealed so much that I didn't already know about him. The last things I noticed were the mini-fridge in the corner and the messy pile of blankets on the other end. This was clearly Blaine's special place.

"Oh Blaine…this is…this is…do you sleep up here?"

"Yeah, a lot of the time."

"Um….are you Jewish?"

"Yeah, I'm half Jewish. One of my dad's is from New York."

"Wait…_dad's_?"

He smiled for the first time and motioned for me to sit down, which I did, my head reeling. Blaine was gay _and_ he had gay parents? He had a secluded loft that was rustic and romantic and just…him? Well, fucking Wyoming, looks like I'm finally cashing in.

He sat opposite me, cross-legged.

"So, first things first. You're gay?"

"Oh Gaga yes! I mean, if I wasn't sure, nearly seeing boobage today just reminded me." I said, with enthusiasm.

He smiled faintly.

"I'm your friend. I knew you were gay from the moment I met you. I'm gay. I would never ever hurt you…why didn't you tell me?"

"Um…fucking Wyoming?" I tried, tentatively. When he looked at me, non-plussed, I ducked my head and added, feeling myself flush, "I, uh, have really terribly gaydar."

"_You_ have terrible gaydar?" Blaine's voice was disbelieving. "But you're so…_gay_."

I felt a jolt in the pit of my stomach. Yes, Blaine, I'm fully aware that I'm a walking stereotype. Thanks for pointing that out. I so did not know that. Anger and bitterness welled up from where I usually kept it locked so securely away.

"Yes, I'm gay! I prance around in designer clothes, I bake like a '50's housewife, I live and breath musical theater, I like boys, I'm practically a fashion accesory for straight city girls. I dress like Willy Wonka, dance to Adam Lambert in my room every night, worship Lady Gaga and wear the tightest pants in the history of tight pants. Any questions?"

Without my knowing, I had risen to my feet, but so had Blaine and I towered over him, my arms crossed over my chest as I glowered at him, daring him to tell me I was gay again. My being so gay-acting was the reason for the all the bullying, all the slushies through high school, the discrimination as I walked through the grocery store, the reason I would probably never attract a boyfriend. I was too gay even for the gays. But I would not tone down who I was one bit to please other people. I had tried, and honestly, especially over the past few weeks, I found that I can only be myself and if that means I'll be harrassed and alone for my entire life, then so be it.

"Kurt…calm down…I like it."

"And here you are, with no right to judge and you—huh?"

"I like how flamboyant you are…it's…well, it's cute."

I could have died a happy man right there and then. Blaine had just said that me and my gayness was cute. Cute! No one of the male persuation had ever called me cute before, except my dad. I started to shake, then a huge grin broke over my face and then, without any warning whatsoever, the waterworks commenced as I threw my arms around Blaine's neck and sobbed for all I was worth. For awhile, I couldn't get any coherent words out and Blaine just held me…for the second time that day. Finally, I managed to choke out a 'thank you' and I pulled away, whiping at the tears streaming down my cheeks. Blaine merely smiled at me.

"Growing up gay in Ohio was tough?"

I could only nod.

"Did you have friends?" I nodded. "Boyfriend?" I shoke my head. "Bullied?" I nodded once more. "Bad?"

"One guy forced hate-kissed me and then threatened to kill me." I said, quietly.

"Oh, Kurt." I was engulfed by another hug and I relaxed into it, wrapping my arms around him in return, feeling safe and content, never wanting this to end. Without releasing me, Blaine asked quietly, "Kurt…do you know what being Two-Spirit is?"

"It's…Native American transsexuals, right?" I asked, as a new thought flooded through me. Was Blaine transgendered?

"Well, it's more than that." Blaine explained, quietly releasing me, but sitting me and slinging an arm around my shoulders. I didn't more away from him. "Yes, mostly transgendered members of the tribe identify as Two-Spirit, but it's also for gay and bi members of the tribe. We're not only accepted here, but celebrated. We're…special." I looked up to see him grinning widely.

I shared a sad smile with him. The idea of LGBTQ people being not only accepted, but seen as special didn't even register in my head for a minute. We were hated, we were unnatural. We were all going to hell. We didn't fit in. We were doomed to a life of misery. But as I looked up into the face, his beautiful, shining face smiling down at me, I knew it was impossible to be miserable. We were beautiful. We were amazing. We were indeed special. And if we going to hell for pure, unconditional love, then I would go to hell gladly.

"Yes…" I said, finally finding my voice. "We are special.

"People didn't think so at home, though. Sure, I had a few friends through Glee Club, which was my sanctuary, but there were always the people yelling 'faggot' in my direction, throwing slushies—those were iced drinks with dye that was impossible to get out of clothing at my high school—in my face, then there was Karofsky threatening me with my life. Hate-kissing me. I've been lucky, though, my family has been amazing and my dad is my hero." I said, suddenly feeling guilt seep through me as I remember how I had been treating my dad. He was right. And he had been right the whole time and I had done nothing but shove his love back in his face.

"You're safe here, with us." Blaine said, rubbing my shoulder, for good measure. Suddenly, the question was burning within me. Sure, the ideas of breasts and vaginas grossed me out, but this was Blaine…and oddly, the idea of him having breasts and a vagina didn't seem to disturb me as much as I thought it would.

"Blaine…um…are your transgendered?"

I suddenly felt horrible. Who was I, asking that question? It was none of my business. But Blaine merely smiled his intoxicating smile.

"No. Cooper is, though."

My mind reeled. Cooper was tall, manly and imposing…how could…?

"He was born as a woman?"

"Technically, yes, but my brother has always been a man, Kurt and if you ever mention the fact that he still has…well…his original genitals, he will make you wish you were never born…not that I'll let him lay a finger on you, but well…"

The loft had suddenly gone tense. Blaine was protective of me and we both were aware of it. He was telling me secrets about his brother that he probably wasn't supposed to tell.

"No, no, I would never! I know he's a guy…I just…was surprised….and impressed…that's…amazing he's been able to do that…I can't imagine what he's been through." I babbled.

"It's been tough…"

Silence. Silence until…

"Kurt…there's something I haven't told you."

I turned toward him, shaking my head softly.

"Blaine, you can tell me anything, I'm not moving. I trust you. I won't judge you."

He paused for a moment, fighting to find the right words. Then,

"I had a…thing with your cousin…Sebastian."

I felt like a bomb had just been dropped on my head. The mere idea of Sebastian and Blaine….I didn't even want to…but I kept my promise: I didn't move.

"And?"

"In secret. We met on a cattle drive. His family didn't like me from the start because I'm an 'injin'," He held up air quotes around the offensive word. "But Sebastian and I just sort of clicked. One day, I asked him if he was gay and after some angry prodding and poking, he kissed me one night and we had this sort of…in secret Brokeback Mountain relationship. Anyway…long and short of it was his dad found out and Sebastian ran away. He was scared…and I was in love with him."

"I'm so sorry Blaine." I said, taking my turn to rub his shoulder.

He shrugged. "Thanks…I'm over him. I feel bad for him having your uncle for a father."

I nodded in agreement. "So I do. I feel like puking guts out after trying to please that son of a bitch for weeks just because acceptance felt nice." I added, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. "It was stupid. I was stupid." I added, at the disappointed look on Blaine's face. "Stop looking at me like that, because the first thing I'm going to do when I get home is prance around in the tightest skinny jeans I own belting Lady Gaga at the top of my voice."

Blaine chuckled and pulled me close and I felt my heart swell once again. "I'm glad I met you, Kurt. You're amazing and you're…you're the closest friend I've ever had."

I froze, my heart beating in my chest. He felt close to me, he was glad he'd met me, he was holding me. Could this be the moment…? Could I man up and tell him how much I was in love with him? Yes, damnit, I could. So I opened my mouth, but Blaine beat me to it.

"Kurt…I need your help."

"Yes?" I asked, breathlessly.

"Well, there's this guy I like…."

"Yes?"

"And I need help telling him how I feel about him."

"Yes?"

"His name.."

My breath shook as I exhaled.

"Is Jeremiah."

…Well, shit.


	7. Metrosexual!

**Author's Note: I love the Garglers. Please leave me some reviews! Reviews make me happy! Oh, and bold = singing.**

It felt like something had just dropped a thousand-pound weight into the pit of my stomach. An icy, thousand-pound weight. Okay, so backing up: I have fallen head over heels in love with Blaine, the the prettiest piece of flesh I had seen in a long time and due to my psycotic brain that only thinks along the lines of fairytales, I had twisted reality to make it seem like maybe, just maybe he liked me back. But here's the thing: Kurt Hummel likes boys, but boys don't like Kurt Hummel. They like girls and, on the rare occasion when they do like boys, they like other boys, but not me.

And still, I told him that yes, I would help him. How could I not? I wanted the boy of my dreams to be happy, even if it was hard was watching kittens being murdered to watch. Needles to say, our evening had ended shortly after that with lots of 'well, it's getting late' and 'you should head back home' and I had scrambled out there as fast as I could. I would have been okay, had Blaine not pullled me into one more bone-crushing hug before I left and as a result, I was crying all the way home. Pathetic. Here I was, an eighteen-year-old man, sobbing as a stylish Thoroughbred carried me home alone under the moonlight of Wyoming over an unrequited love whom I had fallen for far too fast. I didn't even know what his favorite food was or if he preferred Madonna to Lady Gaga or boxers to briefs? Or boxer-briefs? Like I said, pathetic.

The next morning, (or rather, after a few hours had passed) looking at Sebastian felt strange. The thought that he had Blaine had…done stuff together, held hands, kissed, probably had sex, maybe even been in love together made me sick to my stomach with jealousy. It wasn't fair. Just because Sebastian was tall with perfect teeth shouldn't have met he could have Blaine only to turn around and break his heart.

"I have little teeth." I said to myself, standing on tip-toe to examine them in the mirror. And it was settled, I didn't like my teeth. I brushed them obsessively, but they remained small and unattractive.

Things were strangely tense in the house after my gay outburst. Adrian and I officially weren't speaking, Helen had tried to give me several "conversion" speeches, usually featuring God, morales and the joys of procreation and universal acceptance that heterosexuality provided. Most of the kids avoided me, except for Sebastian, who was suddenly a lot more inclined to be nice to me, not that I wanted to return the favor, just yet. Roderick used every opportunity to assert his physical dominance over me and intiminate me and Finn stuck by my side, ready to defend me at a moment's notice. It was endearing and it provided me with a sudden rush of affection for my stepbrother, even if his overprotectiveness was annoying and inconvenient at times. And then there was my dad, who cornered me right outside my bedroom door.

"Kurt…" He started, but I didn't let him finished. Instead, I propelled myself into him and clung to him in a hug.

"I'm so sorry dad. You were right. It just felt good to have his approval, even though I'm not sure why."

"I know kiddo." My dad said, ruffling my hair, which caused me to squirm away a little. "It's tough sometimes. But that doesn't make me any less proud of you than I ever have been. Now go brush your teeth."

Without hesitation, I kissed him on the cheek and went in for the hug again before prancing away to the bathroom.

…...

Over the next few days, I made it quite clear that I was riding Pavarotti now and I'll never forget the look on Roderick's face as long as I live. One of incredulity as he saw me gracefully jumping the Thoroughbred over homemade jumps around the ranch. It felt good, too, knowing I could do something that he would never achieve and Adrian started talking to me again, telling me that since I had managed to "break" the horse, he was mine now and I could do with him what I pleased. This lead to a new series of expressions on Roderick's face, all of which I found incredibly entertaining.

"But…but…he's gay!" He protested, and I raised one eyebrow. "How can he break a horse?"

"And you're an ignoramous. I'm still surprised you manage to tie your shoes every day." I shot back, before turning my beauty around and cantering gracefully off.

….

As amazing as it felt to shove things in Roderick's face, reconcile with my dad and come out to my relatives, there still was the inescable fact that Blaine had a crush. And this crush was not me. And I was supposed to be assisting with the acquiring of said crush. Saturday dawned cruel and hot as I climbed out of bed, dressing nicer than I usually would. What? No matter who this guy was, I automatically didn't like him, but that didn't mean I was going to show up looking like a slob. Indeed, if anything, I was going to show up dressed as fabulously as the hellish climate of fucking Wyoming allowed me to. Blaine picked me up at ten in the morning as promised. Or rather, Blaine and a pack of other guys. Blaine wasn't driving. He was sitting white-face in the passenger seat as an Asian guy took the wheel.

"Hey, I'm Wes! You must be Kurt! Blaine talks about you all the time!" Talks about me all the time? The words stung a little, even as I pushed them from my mind and took the jovial hand that was offered me as Wes veered a little on the road. But I didn't have time to dwell on them, as the guys introduced themselves to me and soon enough, I had met: David, Nick, Jeff, Thad, Trent and one guy who refused to be referred to as anything other than "The Dude". Apparently, they were part of this tribal musical a capella group known as 'The Garglers' that they and Blaine had been cultivating since last year. I couldn't help feeling a bit miffed that Blaine had failed to mention this to me, but once again, I was distracted by the goings-on in the car. First Katy Perry was cranked up to full volume and everyone started singing, the guys named Nick and Jeff started making out and "The Dude" started giving everyone a lecture about sex…or at least, I think it was sex, although I was at a loss as to why a person would ever suggest themselves to such…graphic descriptions of what sounded more like torture than pleasure. In all the commotion, Blaine still looked white and nervous.

"Hey…" I said, reaching forward to give him a shoulder rub. He didn't pull away. "Hey…everything's going to be fine. He's going to love you."

Blaine twisted around in his seat to give me a pained expression.

"We've only been out for a couple of coffee dates, Kurt. What if he hates me? What if he thinks my hair is too curly, or what if I'm too short for him? What if—"

"You're serenading him in public. If he isn't in love with you after this, there's something wrong with the world."

Blaine merely smiled at me as I felt my heart snap in two.

…...

We were doing the actual serenating outside the library in a sort of plaza or town square, when many of the shops and business came together. We packed just out of sight, under the partial wall that some trees provided and Blaine got out first, at our encouragement and went forth to meet the guy he liked, an admittedly good-looking gangly blonde guy with a curly shock of blonde hair. Whoever he was, I hated his guts. They smiled at each other, and some words were exchanged and then, at David's word, we moved forward and the serenation began.

**"Baby girl, where you at?**

**Got no strings, got men attached,**

**Can't stop that feeling for long, no.**

**You're making dogs wanna beg,**

**Breaking them off your fancy legs**

**They make you feel right at home now.**

**Oh, see all these elusions just take us too long**

**And I want it bad.**

**Because you walk pretty,**

**Because you talk pretty,**

**'Cause you make me sick.**

**And I'm not leaving,**

**Till you're leaving.**

**Oh, I swear there's something**

**When she's pumping, asking for a raise.**

**Does she want me to carry her home now?**

**Does she want me to buy her things?**

**On my house, on my jobs, on my new shoes,**

**On my loot, shoes, my shirt, my crew, my mind, last name,"**

Even through all this torture, this was the first time I had heard Blaine sing and I had to admit, as much as I praised my own singing voice over all other mortals, Blaine was pretty good…really good, actually. And I was impressed that he could play the guitar and still sing and dance at the same time.

**"When I get you alone,**

**When I get you alone babe**

**When I get you alone,**

**When I get you alone!**

**Baby girl, you the sh…**

**That makes you my equivalent,**

**You can keep your toys in the drawers tonight,**

**Alright,**

**All my dawgs talkin' fast,**

**Ain't you got some photographs?**

**'Cause you shook that room like star, now,**

**Yes you did, yes you did."**

Honestly, the way I was seeing it, there was no way any guy of the homosexual persuation would be able to resist a gesture like this. This Jeremiah guy was good at Blaine's boyfriend. How could someone be serenaded like this and not fall head over heels in love with him?

**"All these intrusions just take us too long,**

**And I want you so bad…**

**Because you walk city,**

**Because you talk city,**

**'Cause you make me sick**

**And I'm not leaving,**

**Till you're leaving.**

**So I pray to something she ain't bluffing,**

**Rubbing up on me.**

**Well does she want me to make a vow?**

**Check it.**

**Well does she want me to make it now?**

**On my house, on my job,**

**On my loot, shoes, my voice, my crew, my mind,**

**My father's last name?**

**When I get you alone**

**When I get you alone, babe**

**When I get you alone**

**When I get you alone**

**Oh…**

**When I get you alone!"**

We finished spectacularly and out of breath and despite knowing that Blaine was about to collapse into the arms of his soon-to-be lover, I felt pleased with myself. I loathed this pairing, but there was a twisted satisfaction in knowing I had helped bring it about. The other guys and I retreated respectfully back to the car, where he promptly set about spying on the pair.

"Shut up! I can't hear!"

"Well, maybe you'd be able to hear if you pulled your head out of your ass!"

"If your ass was as hot as my ass, you'd keep your head up there too!"

"I cuddle with my cellphone. His name is Alfred. Oh Alfie, how I love you!"

"Shut guys, something's happening!"

Everyone froze with baited breath as Jeremiah shrugged and shook his head, then turned his head and walked away. My jaw fell open.

….

The drive home was silent from Blaine, despite our efforts to cheer him up, as he had obviously just gotten rejected, although no one could quite figure out why. I bid farewell to the Garglers and didn't dare to visit Blaine until two days later, where he confided in me that Jeremiah was surprise—straight—with a girlfriend and although Blaine's being gay didn't make him uncomfortable, he obviously couldn't return Blaine's feelings. I hugged Blaine, barely believing my dumb luck. Had Jeremiah been gay, Blaine would surely not be single anymore.

I loved how it felt to hug Blaine. For one thing, Blaine did more than just hug me. After the intial grabbing of each other, he would enfold me in his arms and then just hold me there, occasionally rubbing comfortingly up and down my back. His soft, steady breathing, his solid, strong-feeling body, and of course, my feelings for him, made me feel nothing less than content and safe and I knew I ever got to decide how I would die, I would go a happy man if only I could pass away in his arms.

Enter a brown-haired, brown-eyes girl of a petite build. She was dressed in clothes that made me want to vomit from the sheer bad taste that they had been selected, but that was only the beginning of the dislike I discovered I would later hold for her. She had a high, nasal voice that she put to excessive use and an obsession with herself.

"Oh hi." Blaine said, pulling out of the hug with me. I instantly disliked her a lot more. She had made Blaine let go of me. "Kurt, this is my sister Rachel."


	8. On the Cliff of Glory

**Author's Note: Second chapter in the same day, yay! Warnings: perscription drug use and something later that I won't spoil. I enjoyed writing this chapter. Apologies for the re-uploading of this chapter. I've been trying to tweak the ending, but it hasn't been letting me. As always, I do not own Glee. If I did, no one would ever graduate. Please, please send me some reviews! They're addictive to me! Even constructive criticism is great to hear, please and thank you!**

Rachel Anderson had a mouth that could rival a hungry baby bald eagle, a fashion sense (or rather, a lack of one) that was vomit-inducing and a truly off-putting obsession with herself. But she was Blaine's sister, so I made a point of sitting down and talking to her and pretending to be nice to her. I listened to her rattle on about how she was a huge star, who was also planning to attend NYADA in the fall, how perfectly Lakota and Native American she was, how beautiful and perfect as a human being she was and all how all over mere mortals should bow before her.

She really was difficult to take.

Throughout our entire first meeting, Blaine kept shooting me what I thought were covetous looks before Rachel finally, finally flounced off to go grace someone else with her inspiring presence. I barely trusted myself to look at Blaine, worried that the look on my face would read something to the effect of _'what the hell was that and can I tie it up and gag it?'_

"I'm so sorry." He said, before I could open my mouth. "She wastes no time in establishing that she is God's greatest gift to humankind."

I really should have said something consoling and polite, or something to make up for the fact that he had a self-absorbed diva for a sister, but all that came out was, "How do you stand her?"

He shrugged, "Xanax," He shrugged, and I looked and him, unable to tell if he was joking or not. "C'mon, there's something I've been wanting to show you."

Of course, his kitchen was so small that my 'coming over there' involved walking all of two steps closer to him, but hey, I was more than happy to be that much closer to him. He stood on his tip-toes, straining to reach the improvised cabinet space above the microwave, but with all his struggling, he still couldn't reach. I felt my heart quiver and nearly burst with the sheer adorableness of it all.

"Here, let me." I said, coming up alongside him, and once I was on my own tip-toes, I was easily able to reach what was apparently a stack of papers and I shoved them into his hands.

"Thanks." He said, simply, smiling at me. I underwent the familiar sensing of my heart stopping altogether and every fiber in my body being on edge as the beautiful cowboy fixed his hazel eyes upon me. A feeling that made me want to squirm and dance and scream and laugh and faint all at the same time. And…was it just me or did his own face freeze for a second? Did he shake his head like a dog trying to rid his ears of water? No, even if he was looking at me out of the corner of his eye, I couldn't afford to get worked up like that, couldn't afford to get my hopes up only to get them crushed again. I couldn't afford to 'make the whole thing up in my head again'. Blaine saw me only as a friend and I knew that, even if I had to remind myself fifty million times a day.

"So…Kurt…the rodeo's coming up."

My head snapped up as my brain changed its train of thought. The rodeo? Images of horses being beaten and cattle being eaten alive and Western clowns making out with scantily-clad rodeo queens flashing across my mind. What did Blaine think I would have to do with the rodeo?

"I'll gladly go and cheer you on from the sidelines," I said, "But you've got to be crazy if you think you can get me to ride a bucking bronco."

"No Kurt, no bucking bronco's, not yet, at least. But give yourself some credit. You're a better rider than you think you are."

I leaned over the table, supported by the palms of my hands as I narrowed my eyes. "No bronco's."

"Fine, no bronco's, but I think you should do something else." Blaine insisted.

"Oh?" I repeated, taking a seat opposite him. "And what exactly are you proposing?"

"The final day of the rodeo, there's this pinacle event, the whole town turns out to see it. It's amazing. It's a steeplechase through the showgrounds. The winner walks away with $3,000 and all the fame anyone's going to get in this town."

I thought I already knew he was going to ask, but I willed my voice to stay still and calm as I pressed for more.

"And?"

"And, Kurt Hummel, I want to see you win that race come this August. On Pavarotti."

"No."

"Why not?" He whined.

"It's dangerous. What if I fall? I need my body to work perfectly for years if I'm going to have any kind of career as a performer on Broadway. What if Pavarotti falls? What someone sabatoges the race beforehand? What if I scare my dad into having another heart attack? What if someone gets hurt? What if someone _dies_, Blaine? What if I fall and rip my face open and then I'll have an ugly scar across my face for the rest of my life?"

"Then you'll be no less beautiful to me." He said, his voice level, clearly undeterred.

My breath caught in my throat. Okay, Blaine Anderson had just called me beautiful. No reason to squeal and dance around the house or fight off the need to kiss him senseless. Just keep on talking as usual.

"No one's going to die, Kurt." He said, continuing as if nothing had happened. "It's a little risky, and okay, people _could_ die, but it's not all that likely. It's been happening each year and no one's even gotten seriously hurt yet. You've got this, it's yours for the taking. Please race Kurt. Do it for me. I want to see you win."

Every rational bone in my body was screaming at me to decline, but I couldn't, not while those eyes were looking at me, not when the boy I was in love with was gazing at me like that, so I lowered my gaze and looked away. Slowly, I shook my head no.

…...

Over the next week and a half, I spent a lot with Blaine, hanging out in his loft, herding cattle with him, singing duets with him on guitar and watching Disney movies while Cooper shot us dirty looks or Rachel showed up to offer her opinion on whoever was singing for whatever princess was onscreen just then. On these occasions, we would quickly close my laptop and make some excuse until we could get away to Blaine's loft and resume our movie-watching activities.

As previously mentioned, Adrian had long since decided that I was worthy to be on speaking terms again, despite my burning gayness and ever since I had not only 'broken' Pavaorotti, but taught him to jump and herd cattle, the man had basically given me the horse for the summer and one particularly sweltering afternoon, he called me into his workshop, a place where even Finn had not dared to set foot in yet. As suspected, it was a total mancave, complete with guns and knives on the walls and powertools littering the space. It would have reminded me of Blaine's loft, only this place was a mess and it smelled.

"Kurt, son, you've proven to me just how ballsy you are and as a reward for this, I have a little present for you."

He unceremonously shoved a rather large parcel covered in a rough clothe sack onto his work table. I looked him, not sure if I wanted to open it for fear of vermin spurting out of it and attacking me in a disease-ridden craze, but he just looked at me expectantly. I gave the bundle one experimental poke before tentatively lifting the clothe away. What I saw underneath made all the air flee my body for a moment.

"Is that a—?"

"Stubben jumping saddle, used in the Olympics. It's all yours, Kurt. Your grandmother would have been so proud of you," Adrian said, a smug look of his own pride fixed across his face as I discovered a matching bridle, a riding crop, a jockey's skullcap and a pair of knee-high riding boots that would have made Alexander McQueen himself blush with envy.

"Thank you!" I finally managed, going for the hug. Then I remembered that this was my uncle, who didn't believe in hugs and who was a bit of a homophobe anyway and I did not like hugging homophobes, so I extended my hand, which he promptly shook instead.

"Also got you these." He added, gruffly, holding out a pair of riding britches, proper English ones, that were still in a plastic bag. "You've been doing a bang-up job with Pavarotti, son. Don't know how you do it, but it's amazing."

I merely smiled…and bit back making a joke about gay charm.

…...

I went to see Blaine later that day, not only because I wanted to see his gorgeous face, but because I wanted to show off my new saddle and boots and…extremely tight britches. It took some fumbling and more than one or two Googling sessions on my phone because I was used to English saddles, but I had to admit, once everything was done, we looked fabulous. I had groomed and brushed Pavarotti like I had OCD and I was dressed up in a light blue shirt that I hoped brought my eyes, as well as a white scarf and belt, along with the new britches and boots. The skullcap actually wasn't as dorky as I thought it was going to be and once I cleaned I up, it was actually quite fashionable. Swinging onto my mount, I rode out into the late afternoon.

"Hey," I said, riding up alongside Blaine who was dragging his trashcans to the curb, "wanna go for a ride?"

He paused and my eyes greedily watched as he wiped the sweat away from his brow.

"Give me five minutes."

True to his word, Blaine was aboard his fully saddled Mustang and by my side in five minutes, maybe less, if I had cared to time him. I had been too busy daydreaming about him to mess with the stopwatch on my phone.

We rode in silence, watching as a little light ebbed aay with every passing minute as the sun set. Blaine as strangely quiet, but I didn't try to engage him in conversation as I usually did. If he wanted to be quiet, I was content to just be in his presence, to steal glances at his achingly beautiful face, framed by his flyaway cowboy hat and short scarf tied around his neck. I wondered what he was thinking about, hoped against hope it was me, then told my internal voices to shut it and not get my hopes up again: I'd only end up getting hurt. Finally, he spoke.

"Kurt, I want to show you something."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Follow me."

He led me up a slope and through a winding path until we ended up on the the very top of a cliff. I felt the breath temporarily leave my lungs.

It gave us the most beautiful, unabstructed view of Wyoming, the state that had been plauging me for over a month. All her plains, all her cattle, going home with the end of the day, her valleys, her mountains, her hills her, her rivers and streams, her children playing happily in the dusk, her birds swooping through the skies—the skies! With the setting sun there was a masterpiece of color—reds and oranges and yellows and blues and indigo's and purples and pinks and greens. Every imaginable color was spilled out before me as I wordlessly dismounted from my horse and took one last daring step towards the edge, as if to reach out and touch the sky.

"See there, right there?" It was Blaine, behind me, his hand steadily on my shoulder, as he had dismounted from his horse as well. "Right between the green and the blue…that color…it matches your eyes."

I felt my breath hitch in my throat and I vaguely thought about pinching myself. This wasn't happening. This couldn't happening. How the hell could this be happening? But it was. Slowly, I turned around to face him and my heart jumped to see that he was standing there, staring back into my eyes.

"You know, I was a fool, going after Jeremiah, thinking that I'd always be alone, when perfect was standing there, the whole time, staring me in the face." He said, and I felt one of his hands reach for mine. I interlaced our fingers.

"Blaine…"

"You are gorgeous, Kurt, hot, sexy, beautiful, inside and out. You're witty, you make me laugh, you're the single most fascinating kid in all of Wyoming. You are the bravest person I've ever met and...I want to be with you, Kurt."

I stood there, stupidly, letting his words sink in. Blaine fucking Anderson wanted to be my boyfriend! He thought I was brave! He thought I was sexy! I made him laugh! And he wanted to be my boyfriend! And he wanted to be my boyfriend! And he wanted to be my boyfriend! That meant he wanted me to be his boyfriend too!

"And I know that you might not feel the same way and-"

Oh no, I wasn't letting this one get away without a fight.

With a loud moan of protest and desperation, I grabbed him by the collar and pressed my lips against his.

Fireworks went off in my head.

Inexperience was biting at me, but a moment later, Blaine didn't seem to mind as he moaned into the kiss and pulled my closer, working his hands across my back, but mercilfully stopping at my neck as not to mess up my perfectly coiffed hair that I hadn't even let the skullcap, which I had left hanging on my saddle, crush too much. My hands roamed freely across his back, slipping around his neck as I felt his tongue slip into my mouth and my hands grabbed his cowboy hat off his head, letting it hang from around his neck by the string as our tongues battled for dominance. After a long moment, I pulled away. As much as I hated to, there was something I was burning to say.

_I love you._

"I want to be with you too."

And the next kiss made me see stars.

…**And then they had sex. Just kidding, because I don't think Kurt would go for sex straight on the dirt on the edge of a cliff. Maybe in a tent? Anyway, if you are good Klainers and leave me with reviews, you'll get to find out if they go for the tent. MUWHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!**


	9. Interrupting Finn

**Sorry for the long wait everyone! I had writers' block and then things happened in my life. Anyway, here is the latest installment (and you can also find me on Scarves and Coffee). I don't own Glee, per the usual and if I did, there would be a lot more Klaining onscreen and a lot more Hudson bro scenes. Please read and review! I've decided to start warning people about the warnings, so yeah. This story is rated M and deals with mature subjects.**

Hey everyone, just Kurt Hummel checking in. The time? 7:51pm. The place? Fucking Wyoming. Tonsil hockey? Oh hell to the yes!

I, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, would like to report on the merits of making out. Actually, I'd just like to gush about the pure joy of rubbing your lips and tongue against that of the teenaged boy you've fallen head over heels in love with far too quickly. I would like to relieve every single second of sparkling electricity as you swap spit with another person you only met about a month and a half ago.

Foolish? I. Don't. Care. Whatever judgmental thoughts you people may be thinking, keep them to yourselves because, I, Kurt Hummel, am making out with Blaine Anderson and nothing, I repeat, _nothing_ can ruin this moment. Well, maybe falling off the cliff, but as long as we both fell together…

I felt him run his tongue against mine and then he switched to running it along my gum line, all while letting out a soft moan into the kiss. Unable to contain myself after that, (honestly, could you?) I grabbed the back of his head with one hand and swirled my tongue around in his mouth frantically, pressing my body close against his, wanting, needing to be as close as possible as we kissed on the edge of a cliff in the sunset in the middle of nowhere. And it was beautiful.

And then all the blood rushed south and I got hard. Remember when I said nothing could ruin this moment, not even falling off a cliff? Yeah, well, I forgot about this little thing we like to call _erections_. The fact that Blaine had now progressed to placing feather-light kisses on my neck was not improving my current condition.

I pulled away. I didn't want to, but I had to. What? Was I just supposed to stand there, with my crotch gouging into his thigh and expect him to not notice? How could he expect it stay in place while he was moaning and doing _things_ to my neck? I am a silly romantic who refuses to admit to admit that stuff goes on in people's underwear…including _my_ underwear. I feel unholy enough when I wake up in the middle of the night and there's…stuff all over my bed, but this? Ruining the most perfect moment of my imperfect life? No, I could never forgive my penis for this. Ever!

"Kurt? I'm sorry, did I…too much?" Blaine stuttered, fixing me with those big puppy eyes, begging to be forgiven of unwittingly making my body misbehave.

"Uhh…" I stammered, only now realizing that I was wearing what were basically tights. Tights that were very tight. And that boners are not invisible. "Uhh, no, of course not, I, um…I have asthma, Blaine and I felt a coughing fit coming on and I'm so sorry Blaine." I gazed at him for a moment…then bent over and started coughing violently.

"Where's your inhaler?"

"Left…it…at house." I lied, straightening up and taking a few deep breaths. I know what you're thinking, but please, I'm an actor, of course I can fake a realistic coughing fit. "Blaine, I'm so sorry…" I said, gazing at him as I felt my _problem_ get even worse.

_Think about baseball…men in tight pants throwing balls to each other…Blaine in tight pants throwing balls—no! Think about boobs. Yes, Harmony's bulging cleevage staring me right in the face. Harmony stripping! Harmony in the shower masturbating! Okay, there we go…_

I managed to look at Blaine, while still constructing a vivid image of Harmony touching herself in the filthiest shower known to humankind…if the harpy could even be considered human and miraculously, my _problem_ didn't get any worse. In fact, it even started to subside a little.

"Oh Kurt…"

And with that, Blaine threw his arms around me and held me close. Mercifully, my…_problem_ was nowhere near him, so I let out an involuntary sigh and put my arms around him, too, holding him close. We stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other in the gathering dark.

"Um…so Kurt…this whole love…kissing…making out thing…"

I tensed involuntarily as doubts flooded through my mind. Of course he regretted it. Of course he knew he could do better, even if this was Fucking Wyoming. Of course I was doing anything but giving him _problems_. I was Captain Baby-face, Prince Doe-Eyes, King of the sexless mind…go on, make the queen joke. I know it's there, you bastards.

"It's not that you're really good at it, 'cause you are a _fantastic_ kisser, Kurt. It's…"

I couldn't bear to hear him say it. Hear him say that he was happy to be my friend, but he wasn't interested in me as a boyfriend. That I wasn't sexy enough or mature enough, that I wasn't manly enough…that I wasn't…enough.

"Blaine…" I willed my voice not to tremble as I removed my arms from around his neck. "It's okay. I know I'm pasty and effeminate and that I'm not boyfriend material…I—"

I felt warm lips silence me as they were pressed over mine.

"Not boyfriend material?" Blaine repeated, "Kurt, you are _so_ boyfriend material. What I was trying to say before you went down self-deprication lane and started biting your lip in that way that's been driving me crazy for months—"

I then realized that I had been biting on my bottom lip, presumably the whole time, a habit I had had for years. I quickly stopped, too embarrassed to continue.

"—What I was trying to say, trying to ask you, Kurt, is will you be my boyfriend?"

I blinked as relief, which was quickly replaced by euphoria washed over me. Apparently, I was standing there, staring at him for too long, for Blaine's puppy eyes suddenly got bigger and they were lowered to his feet.

"I mean, I can understand if you don't, but I thought I might ask after—"

The word 'yes' is fairly common in the English language and I have used it many time and my mouth is well-acquainted with it, but all that came out was a high-pitched squeal of joy as I wrapped my arms around Blaine, my smile almost hurting as I buried my face in his curls and breathed in his scent. He smiled like horses and leather and pine trees and—

"Kurt…can't…breathe…"

Whoops.

"Sorry!" I apologized, releasing him and setting him gently back down. And then I realized that I had actually picked him up off his feet and squeezed him so tight that he could barely breathe. While I'm totally opposed to suffocating my…_boyfriend_, all I can say is, score one for the Hummel!

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, got caught up in the…" I stared at him, happily abusing the privilege of getting to gaze unabashedly into his gorgeous hazel eyes. "Has anyone ever told you, you have beautiful eyes?" I said, helplessly.

He smiled at me and pecked me on the lips.

"Has anyone ever mentioned you are the most beautiful man on the face of the planet?"

Move over Elphaba, I need to do some melting. And I did. I all but fell into his arms as I attacked his lips, careful to keep my crotch as far away from him. Ultimately, we ended up making out for another ten minutes. I had my back comfortably pressed against Pavarotti's side and my tongue snugly down Blaine's throat when he slowly and resentfully pulled away.

"We should head back."

I groaned in protest and pecked him on the lips.

"We should." I kissed him again. "Don't wanna stop."

"Don't tempt me." He whined before diving in for one last kiss

….

"…And then she was like, 'Barbra would never have done this!' and ran off." He said.

"Yeah, sounds good."

"Are you listening to me?"

"Uh-huh…fantastic."

"You're not listening to a word I say, are you?"

"Yep."

"KURT!"

"Huh?"

I blinked, noticing Finn's too-big fingers waving dangerously close to my face. I recoiled least he permanently damage my features. For the first time in his life, Finn was offended that I wasn't listening to his ramblings-on. Usually, it was him who wouldn't listen to me, even when I brought him a peace offering of warm milk. Serve him right.

"You alright dude?" Finn asked, irritation fading into concern.

I turned around and beamed at him, and I'm not talking a shy little smile, I'm talking flash-all-the-teeth-and-light-up-the-room-beaming.

"I'm so alright that it feels like I'm defying gravity, Finn." I said, extra-pleased with myself that I had slipped the _Wicked_ reference in there.

It was Finn's turn to recoil.

"Dude…are you on drugs?" He asked, leaning in an lowering his voice.

I rolled my eyes and continued to grin like an idiot. "Don't be ridiculous, I would never poison my body. And Finn, I'm not a dude: today I'm a king!"

As I spread my arms wide, Finn just sat there before taking action.

"Okay, dude, you're going to bed right now and if you're not normal by morning, you're going to the doctor, come!"

And with that, the big brute wasted no time in grabbing me around the waist and throwing me over his shoulder. He was easily twice my size, something I had once upon a time found very attractive. Now I just found it annoying.

"Put me down! Unhand me at once!" I hollowed, hoping that my shrill voice would deter him, for it was beneath my dignity to hit him.

"Cool it dude—"

"I'M NOT A DUDE!"

"Fine! Your Majesty!"

Finn continued to ignore my protests (including the ones in French and Elizabethian English) as he carried me up the stairs and unceremoniously dumped me on the bed. I didn't dignify him with a response and didn't give him the satisfaction of crawling into bed and tucking myself in like an obedient older-but-smaller brother. Instead, I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him like an indignant toddler. He stood there cluelessly for a moment, uncertain as to what to do with the sitation that sat glowering fabulously before him, so he raised his hand clumsily, as if to scold me with one finger (seriously, why did he use his whole hand?) and said, "I'll be back in an hour to check on you…" And then he locked the door from the outside and left me by myself.

In the hour the followed, I had more than enough to bury my head in my pillow and scream with pure bliss.

…...

When Finn returned, he was carrying two mugs and I not just finished with giving him the cat-you-just-bathed silent treatment, I would have hugged him in pride. Finally, he was learning!

"Here, brought you some milk." He mumbled, offering me the mug. I took it eagerly and was only minimally disappointed to discover it was cold.

"Thanks." I said, pleasantly.

"So…dude,"

I just looked at him. He tried again.

"So Kurt…"

"Yyyyyyyeeeeeesssss?" I said, barely able to supress my delight.

"Who gave you the crack?"

"You mean who gave me the boyfriend?" I shot back. Earlier, I decided to put Finn out of his misery sooner than later and enlighten him that I was no longer single. Besides, I needed to have someone on my side if things turned homophobic in the state of Fucking Wyoming.

"Huh? What kinda weed is boyf—" Comprehension dawned in his good-natured, but not-so-deep brown eyes. "Wait…you have a boyfriend?"

"Yep." I said, without elaboration, swinging my legs up onto the bed so I could sit cross-legged.

"Who?" Finn demanded, obviously running through the list of gay men in Wyoming of whom he was aware.

"His name is Blaine. He's a cowboy. He lives on the reservation." I was trying to help Finn out with each new piece of information before he finally got it.

"Oh, yeah, he was that guy who brought you back the first day when your horse ran off and you screamed like Quinn when she's breaks up with me."

I decided not to comment on the saga of Quinn Fabray and the many times she had broken up with my brother.

"That's the one."

"Wait…wasn't he was one Uncle Adrian almost shot? Are you dating an Indian?"

"Native American, Finn. He's Native American. Lakota tribe and—"

"That's so cool that you're dating an Indian, Kurt!"

"Thanks Finn. I appreciate your—"

"If he hurts you, I swear I'll put a bullet in his brain." He interrupted.

"No! Finn! That counts as murder!" I shot back at him. "And thanks for the support, but it won't be necessary: Blaine is a total gentleman. Besides, you don't even know how to shoot a gun."

"Do too!" He retorted. "Rod taught me."

"Ugh, Rod…" I commented.

"That and I have this habit of shoving my elbow in his face whenever he says 'that's so gay'." Finn added.

I turned and looked at my brother. There he was, sitting on my borrowed bed with me, not a trace of discomfort, telling me that he was defending my sexual identity to someone he was stuck with for the summer. Three years ago, he had been throwing me in the dumpsters just for 'acting gay'. I felt the waterworks threatening to burst through and I lunged forward, throwing my arms around him and pulling him close to me in a hug.

"Thanks…" I said, in a Herculian effort not to let my voice betray my moistening eyes. It did, of course.

"For what?" Questioned the still-slightly shocked Finn.

"For supporting me."

"I love you dude."

"I love you too Finn."

"Sorry I haven't taught him how to use deodorant yet."

The hug abruptly ended.

….

We seem to have many awkward dinners in this family. You see, our at-home Friday night dinners are awkward enough, without _Dinner With the Hummels: Hilbilly Edition (featuring Carol and Finn)_. Put that together with my determination to announce my big news and things were promising to get messy. Now, I'm a clean guy, you could pick out a pin dropping in my bedroom—it's that clean, my personal hygiene is impeccable, my car, my homework, hell, even my handwriting is clean! My language, not so much, but you get the point. Tonight, perhaps I wanted things to get a little messy. Not so messy that my parents would die of embarassment, but just messy enough to get certain people's attention. People like Roderick.

"Ain't no steer wrestlers like us," The behemoth in question was saying, his mouth overstuffed with, yep, you guessed it, beef. "We're going to take them all down, like lil' babies." He swallowed hugely. Next to him, Finn looked like a prim and proper an Elizabethian gentleman. And just saying, _this is Finn_ I'm comparing him too.

"Thatta boy!" Adrian announced, slapping Roderick on the shoulder with enough force to send him into the edge of the table, which he did.

"So, how was everyone's day?"

Thank you Carole! That was all the segue I needed.

"Not bad," I commented, jumping right in there, "Took Pavarotti for a ride, wrote a new song on the piano, made out with my boyfriend." I took a bite of salad, delivering the news as if I had just told them I'd taken a leisurely stroll to the library, but inside I was trembling with anticipation…and a little fear. "What?"

I must admit, their expressions were priceless. Adrian, Roderick and precociously macho Alex were all looking at me as if I had just told them I'd taken a leisurely stroll off a cliff, Helen and Miranda were avoiding looking at me, Sebastian had strunk back as far into his seat as his body would allow him, (I had to feel sorry for him, even though I had been pissed at my cousin lately for the loose history I had heard about between him and Blaine) Carole was smiling uncertainly and my Dad was looking at me through skrewd eyes, his emotions unreadable just yet. Meanwhile, Finn was grinning proudly by my side. Jenny was the first to break the silence.

"Well, that's GAY."

"Well, duh, he has a BOYFRIEND." Finn piped up, as if explaining that the sky was indeed blue. "They are two guys who are dating. They are gay. Of course it's GAY."

"Kurt, who is this boy?"

It was my Dad who spoke this time. His tone was kind, but curious.

"Kurt's dating an Indian!" Finn continued, as I opened my mouth to speak. A part of me wanted to shove his fork down his throat to get him to shut up, but another part of me was too touched that he was so obviously proud of me that I couldn't even bring myself to kick him under the table.

"Who is this character?" My dad demanded, and this time, I figured out that he wasn't angry, he was getting over-protective, per the usual.

"He's this guy I met at the beginning of the summer. Yes, he's Native American, we've been friends ever since we met and yes, we're the same age and he's not a serial killer or a rapist or a drug dealer or anything like that!" I said, firing off the answers to the questions I was sure would come…and that would be asked again anyway. "His name is Blaine."

Silence all around the table. Then Sebastian dropped his fork. Finally my dad spoke, rubbing my shoulder comfortingly (as he had learned long ago not to ruffle my hair).

"Congratulations kid. I'd like to meet this Blaine character."

"Sure thing Dad."

"Kurt has a boyfriend! And he's an Indian!" Finn announced, happily. "How cool is that, huh?"


	10. How

**A/N: I am so, SO sorry that it's taken me this long. I have reasons, but I won't bore you with a long list of excuses. Anyway, please take me back, wonderful people. I've got racist! Finn*, smartass! Kurt and cowboy! Blaine, so please read and review! I need encouragement to keep going! Okay, I'm not**_**that**_** insecure about my abilities, but reviews are like crack to me and I'm addicted. Unfortunately, I don't own the reason for my addiction: Glee.**

***Technically speaking, Finn stereotypes, but is not really racist.**

"He's late."

"It's five minutes till, he's not late!"

"He's late for being five minutes early." My dad grouched again. I buried my head in my arms, which lay out on the tabletop, letting out my signature teenage sigh. Really, this whole ordeal was bad enough as it was without my dad making everything much more uncomfortable.

So I guess I should catch you guys up. The past twenty-four hours had been a mix of heaven and hell. Either I was fantasizing vividly about my _boyfriend_, (get your minds out of the gutters; you're perverts, all of you!) or I was texting him at three thousand cavity-sweet words per second. Of course Carole thought this was all very cute, my dad kept glaring at my attachment to my phone suspiciously (seriously dad, he's just increasing my risk of being diagnosed with diabetes, but there's no sexting involved…unfortunately) and of course, Finn was shocked to discover that "Indians used phones". But my unintentionally racist brother was the last thing I was thinking about when Blaine was texting me things like: _I still don't know what color your eyes are, but don't tell me. I'll have plenty of time to gaze into them and find out. :)_

I repeat, best. Boyfriend. Ever.

My father didn't share my euphoria over "this Blaine character" and he insisted on meeting Blaine before I saw him next. Of course this was the most disgusting injustice of the century, but I wasn't going to be a martyr if I couldn't see Blaine. Of course, my wonderful boyfriend had agreed in a second to meet my immediate family at the coffee place in town.

So there we were, sitting awkwardly at a table: my dad, Carole, Finn and I. My dad was getting ready to hate more on this kid than deep-fried parfait does on the arteries, Carole kept shooting me supportive looks and Finn was alert as a merkat looking out for predators.

"I hope I'm not late…" A familiar voice said.

"Blaine!"

He was standing there, dreamier than ever. Today he had tamed his flyaway curls with…was that hair gel? He appeared to have used rather a lot of it and it was probably the cheapest brand he could get his paws on at CVS. We would have to have a talk after this… He was dressed in his nicest pair of dark blue jeans, a short-sleeved plaid button-down shirt and of course his boots, complete with his spurs, which he appeared to have cleaned for the occasion. He looked the very definition of 'Western dapper'. That sounds like it should be a department of its own in a fashion catalogue.

I made to through myself into his arms and attack his lips when I remembered my parents and Finn were sitting there, drinking in our slightest movements in relation to each other, so it turned into something very disappointing. Have I ever mentioned how awkward it is to hug your boyfriend in front of your family? Yeah, it's awkward. Like, really awkward. Like, please-kill-me-now-and-bury-my-corpse-in-the-Earth's-core awkward. I had never been so revealed to stop touching my beloved.

"Dad, Carole…Finn, this is Blaine."

Carole was the first to shake his hand and she smiled at him warmly as Blaine flashed her his best gentleman's smile. His expression did not waver as my dad shook his hand, stony-faced, although I did notice the tips of Blaine's fingers—the ones that were encased by my dad's hands, turned faintly white. To quote Draco Malfoy, my father would hear of this, if I had to roll around on the floor myself to get his attention. Finally, Blaine held out his hand to Finn, but the racist numbskull didn't accept it. Instead, he held up his right hand and proclaimed, in a deep, booming voice, "How!"

?

Blaine smiled confusedly and raised his hand awkwardly long enough to choke out an uncertain, "how?" before taking a seat next to me, folding his hands neatly in front of him and smiling politely at my parents like the fucking gentleman he was. Of course, Finn wasted no time in embarrassing us all.

"So, do you leave in a wigwam or a teepee?"

I actually face-palmed. Carole smacked Finn in the arm, but he remained oblivious. Blaine looked surprised, but still didn't miss a beat.

"Actually, I live in a trailer, but I've always been intrigued by teepees." He said, while I shot Finn the death glare. Of course he didn't catch on.

"I see, and what're you doing with your life, kid?" It was my dad who spoke this time and if Finn had been one kind of embarrassing, my dad was a whole new brand and I couldn't decide who was worse. "You going to school or what?"

The _nerve_ of the man, really. He had dropped out of high school, and he had the _nerve_ to dissect my first boyfriend, recently installed boyfriend about his college plans. Now I turned the bitchface on my own father, but Blaine merely smiled and answered without preamble.

"Well, I can't afford to, right now, but I've always wanted to run a therapeutic riding problem for kids, y'know, ones with disabilities? I've also wanted to train police horses and start a rescue for Premarim horses."

He might as well have told them that he wanted to spend his days nursing sick kittens back to health and taking in orphans. My dad didn't know what a Premarim horse was or what was really involved as far as therapeutic children's riding programs went, but I knew the look he was giving Blaine all too well. It was the look he gave me when he was trying to remain stern and disciplinary, but every fiber of his being wanted to give in and spoil me rotten.

"I guess I've always wanted to be a musician or an actor, but I'm not very good, so…" Blaine added, shrugging non-committally.

"I'm sure you're brilliant." Carole said, beaming at him, obviously as in love with him as I was.

"Hey, do you own a casino?"

"Finn!" Carole and I chided both flashing Finn identical looks of 'I'm _so_ sorry'.

Blaine merely chuckled. "No. If I'm going to gamble, I'd put my money in new Broadway shows."

Okay, that was a recent development. Since he had met me, Blaine's iPod had been expanded to include show tunes as well as his every Disney song known to mankind…or at least to Blaine. Still, it did nothing but win my parents over.

"So, Blaine," My dad began, obviously struggling to keep sounding stern and protective, (what a fail) "You like horses?"

"Love them. I know it sounds weird, but sometimes I like horses more than I like people. They don't give you nonsense, y'know? They're just genuine. You do right by a horse, he'll never let you down, you're cruel to him and he won't let you forget it. And when you apologize and things are all patched up, the both of you can move on with your lives together as if nothing bad ever happened."

Finally, my dad cracked a smile. He couldn't help it. I couldn't help it either.

"Sounds great, kid." My dad added, finally warming up to Blaine. Then Finn had to go and open his big mouth.

"Have you and Kurt had sex yet?"

"FINN!" Three voices chimed in.

For the first time in the entire encounter, Blaine was lost for words. He just sat there, his mouth half-open in shock. When he recovered, he shut his mouth, licked his lips and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. I mean, if I was in his shoes, I would be terrified. Just how to do you handle it when you're trying to impress your new boyfriend's parents and said boyfriend's stepbrother asks if you two have been copulating? I certainly don't know. I didn't know anything just then, except my face was burning so much that I probably could have fried an egg on it and if looks could kill, Finn would have already joined the choir invisible.

"I believe that two consenting, healthy and emotionally prepared adults should be allowed to engage in activities of a sexual nature if they so choose, if that's what you're asking." Blaine said, choosing his words carefully, as my father hung on each syllable. "However, Kurt and I have not expressed our…feelings in physical form."

Two things were evident. Blaine was amazing. Finn sucked. Fortunately, my dad and Carole seemed to agree with this and they nodded, my dad blushing as heavily as I was and they steered the conversation into safer waters while I delivered a swift, painful to Finn's knees under the table. He winced and demanded to know 'what that was for' after I connected. Pity, I was going for his balls. Finally, when the meeting was over, my dad gave Blaine a warm smile and a handshake that didn't crush his fingers, Carole hugged him and Finn held his hand up and said, "how" again and Blaine reciprocated. I hugged him goodbye, mentally cursing my family for standing there and watching the whole thing. We were about to leave when Finn opened his big mouth again.

"Hey, I never found out what your Indian name is, dude!"

Blaine stopped for a moment, but then continued without a trace of embarrassment.

"It's, 'Short Legs Jump On Table'."

….

In the days that followed, Finn was even more in love with Blaine than I was. He spent most of his waking hours, going on about how Blaine was my Indian Brave with a tomahawk who would scalp anyone who laid a finger on 'White Man Stole Cowboy Heart'. That was me, apparently, and at first, Finn called me nothing else, but then things got even worse and he made up even more embarrassing 'Indian Names' for me. 'Pale-Face Kiss Good' was his current favorite, (awkward much?) but he was also fond of: 'Gay Freckles Sing High' and 'Cream-Skin Like Designer Moccasins' and even, 'Likes Interracial Brokeback Mountain'. I'm still debating how offended I should be.

Even though Finn was a blatant racist, my father hadn't been able to dislike Blaine. In fact, I think he rather likes my boyfriend. And when I say 'likes', I mean he 'really, really likes, but can't show it because he has to be manly and a good, over-protective dad'. Carole was thrilled and mentioned to me how handsome Blaine was at every opportunity. My relatives weren't as over-the-moon as my immediate family, but they made sure to gossip about all the _faggotry_ behind my back. Adrian considered to favor me openly, but refused to mention homosexuality in any form, probably because my dad and Carole would go all, we-are-supportive-parents-of-a-gay-son-bitch on his ass. Getting your adult 'city' relatives miffed at you for insulting their homosexual children probably went against the hick code, or something. Helen and Miranda refused to mention it as well, but went on and on about 'all the beautiful, single young ladies' in town whenever I was around. The rest of the kids were not so subtle. The brothers, except for Sebastian and Jenny openly made fun of me whenever their parents weren't around. I ignored them, the suckling pigs. Sebastian had decided he wasn't talking to me.

But getting back to the point, when it the moment arrived for me to ask my dad if I could go to a sleep-over party event at Blaine's, he agreed. Okay, I'll stop fibbing: he said I could go on one condition: that Finn came with me. Let's just say that Finn was thrilled and there were a lot of "but Dad!"'s. Normally, Finn's presence wasn't a problem. He'd do his thing at parties (make out with all the wrong girls, thus ruining his love life for the millionth time) and I'd do mine (have civilized conversations with the cultured young ladies of today and then point out that they are all dressed like slutty grandmas. I never dress like a slutty grandma: I'm fabulous, but I digress). Normally, Finn wouldn't be a problem, but he had developed such a mancrush on Blaine (not that I blame him) that I was liable to get a grand total of _no_ alone time with Blaine because my brother would be all over him. In a way, my dad was the most brilliant man alive. Sure, he was a high school drop-out, but it seemed like the guy just kept on getting smarter: as long as Finn was there, there would be no _BLURT_ sexytimes. Problem solved. Oh, yes, _BLURT_ is our couple name. I came up with it. I am impressed with myself. Blaine will love it too, no questions asked.

…...

I was putting the finishing touches on my hair when Finn burst into the room I shared with Sebastian for the millionth time, positively quaking with excitement.

"FINN! OUT!" I bellowed, still fiddling with my hair.

"Come on Kurt, we don't want to be late for the pow-wow!"

"Ohmygod Finn! That's so racist!" I seemed to be saying that a lot lately. "It's a party, not a pow-wow."

He wasn't listening, as usual. "I'm going to do the rain dance, and then I'm going to make a headdress and then I'm going to eat Buffalo wings!"

I didn't even dignify that with a response.

….

The sounds of laughter, whooping and howling and the soft glow of fire in the distance were what greeted us when we rode onto the reservation.

"Blaine?" I questioned, leaning over Pavarotti's neck and calling softly into the semi-darkness. I heard Finn's excited breathing behind me, but I myself felt apprehension: being on the reservation without Blaine at my side still made me nervous.

"Blaine?" I called out a little louder.

Nothing. Just the continued noises of what I assumed was the party. Maybe we should just go towards it? Tentatively, I urged my beautiful creature forward, but then a twig cracked and my breathe caught in my throat as a tall, muscular figure emerged out of the darkness, holding a long object which was, if I'm not very much mistaken, a rifle.

"Blaine?" I squeaked.

"Cool it, White boy, he's this way." I heard the gruff voice before I saw him switch on his flashlight and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Cooper in the darkness, guarding the perimeter, probably from traditional gender roles. We followed him towards the sounds of the party and then all of a sudden, the trailers parted, giving me a clear, unobstructed few of a pure, grassy field sounded by trees. The light of the full moon was cast down on a group of people who were dancing and singing around a blazing campfire. Their horses grazed around them and several large tee-pees were set in a circle around the fire. It was like _Dances With Wolves_ without all the gross, facial hair.

"Kurt!"

And there was, my very own Lakota brave, running towards me, his arms outstretched. With a squeal, I urged Pavarotti towards him as he ran towards me. Without my cues to stop, the horse slowed as Blaine neared. I didn't bother dismounting—I didn't have time: I needed to kiss him _now_. I bent at the waist while still in the saddle as Blaine stood on his toes as our lips met in a whirlwind of color and emotion. The world spun into oblivion, disappearing and leaving only the two of us in existence. All I could feel was his mouth moving on mind, his hands around the back of my neck, the feeling of his stubbly cheek against the palm of my hand. Everything was perfect as fireworks went off inside my chest, my limbs tingled and my very being glowed with the light of a thousand stars.

**A/N: ****...And another chapter ends in kissing. Yay! I'll do my best to write the next chapter soon. Now review!**


	11. The Death of BLURT

**A/N****: Okay, this chapter is long and took forever to write. Thanks for all the reviews. Also, Finn ships Klaine. You should too.**

When we pulled away, the sound hit my ears at a million miles per hour. There was a great deal of whistling, cat-calling and several gutter-minded people yelling, "GET SOME!" Blaine smiled at me and I dismounted. We joined hands as I led Pavarotti over to the other horses and tethered him with the rest. And then there was the matter of Finn. Finn was paler than me. And he looked like a codfish. Oh, Finn was in shock.

"OHMYGOD, YOU TWO, LIKE…KISSED!" He observed, loud enough for the entire population of Fucking Wyoming to hear. I decided to stay calm in the face of chaos.

"Yes, Finn."

"BUT YOU…LIKE…KISSED!" He repeated, still not grasping the concept.

"Yes, _Finn_." I repeated, through clenched teeth.

"NONONO, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ME—YOU, LIKE _KISSED_!"

I cracked.

"Yes, Finn, in case you didn't notice, we did indeed, _like_ kiss. We took our lips and rubbed them together in a circular motion and curled our tongues together while our saliva mingled. Kissing is a way of showing affection that is utilized by most couples in Western cultures." I said, finally cracking. "It was quite enjoyable, actually. Kissing has been scientifically proven to release endorphins as well as such hormones as: Oxytocin, Dopamine, Serotonin and Adrenaline. Anything else you want to know?"

Finn looked genuinely taken aback. I felt oh-so-pleased with myself.

"No, I just wanted to say that it was…awesome…that you two are kissing…that's all." He mumbled.

"That's a bit creepy that you like to watch, brother-dearest."

"Kurt! That's gross!" He protested, starting to look panicked.

I raised a single eyebrow. "You're telling me."

At that point, I decided it was best to leave Frankenteen to his own devices and party properly, hand-in-hand with my boyfriend, and I did exactly that. The last I saw of Finn, he was wandering from person to person, holding his right hand up and saying, "how" in a loud, carrying voice.

"Hey…" A voice brought me back to the present and it was to find Blaine gazing at me with warm eyes. "You look incredible."

My heart skipped a beat and I felt my face flush pleasurably and I forgot how to use human language for a minute as I gargled indecipherably before regaining the power of speech.

"You too."

Wow, Kurt. Smooth. Eloquent. The man who once had a way with words is now lost for them. I'll bet Blaine was so impressed he was coming up with ways to dump me and sneak with his friends ASAP. All he did was smile at me. That was a bad sign, right? I was gathering the long list of reasons of why he should date me, (and currently, there was nothing on that list) when out of nowhere, he raised his hand to my cheek and caressed my cheek tenderly. My heart fluttered in my chest as a sigh stubbornly escaped my lips and I felt myself melt into a useless puddle of goo.

"You…gorgeous, stay right here. I'll be right back. Stay." And he punctuated the last word with a kiss on my lips before running off in the darkness. My knees would have given way and I would have floated uselessly to the ground right then and there if something (or rather some_one_) small and annoying hadn't caught me first.

"Are you all right, Kurt? It looks like you were falling over. Sometimes I fall over when I'm listening to recordings of myself singing "On My Own" from _Les Mis_ and my own talent is too much for me to handle."

Rachel. Blaine's sister. Have I mentioned I hate my life? Oh, wait, Blaine exists. Life is tolerable…barely.

"Maybe if I sang for you, it would revive you and you'd be able to stand firmly on your feet again. Of course, I'd have to be careful not to sing _too_ much: I can't my talent affecting you too deeply. You see, I'm worried for your health."

I don't even…_WHAT THE FUCK_?!

"Of course you remember me, I'm Rachel Anderson, Cooper and Blaine are my brothers. They're very talented too, of course, but I got all the best performance genes."

Did she ever come up for air?

"You see, our dads are gay, but we had a surrogate mother. You should all hear me sing in a minute, I'm going to—"

Blaine really was heaven-sent, because the next moment, he appeared at the forefront of all of "The Garglers" and they were all banging on the lids to metal pots, effectively getting everyone's attention, but more importantly, shutting up the menace known as Rachel Anderson. When the noise died down, The Garglers began to sing in all their a capella glory.

"You think I'm pretty,

Without any makeup on

You think I'm funny,

When I get the punch line wrong

I know you get me,

So I let my walls come down

Dow-ow-own.

Before you met me,

I was all right, but

Things were kinda heavy

Brought me to life

Now ev'ry February

You'll be my valentine.

Let's go all the way tonight,

No regrets, just love

We can dance until we die

You and I

We'll be young forever."

It was all so much. I had never been serenaded in my life, never mind by a pack of very good-looking men with my boyfriend singing the lead. Oh Gaga, he was singing directly at me, holding out his hand toward me, singling me out and everyone turned to look at me. I was so _not_ opposed.

"You make me

Feel like I'm living a

Teenage dream

The way you turn me on

I can't sleep

Let's run away

And don't ever look back,

Don't ever look back.

My heart stops

When you look at me

Just one touch

Now baby, I believe

This is real

So take a chance

And don't ever look back,

Don't ever look back."

My face flushed pleasantly warm again as I let his honey-toned voice wash over me as he sang me lyrics full of young love and promise as he friends sang the backup vocals…for me. I felt like I was going to squeal, but I couldn't stuff my fists in my mouth to stifle the sound because it would look incredibly undignified. In compromise, I stood there, rooted to the spot, but bouncing with energy.

"We drove to Cali

And got drunk on the beach

Got a motel and

Built a fort out of sheets

I finally found you,

My missing puzzle piece

I'm complete."

The chorus washed over me again. I had heard Blaine sing before and I knew he had promise, but I had never seen him perform before in a formal-ish setting and had I not been so drunk on love, I would have noticed a lot more of his talent.

"Imma get your heart racing

In my skintight jeans

Let you put your hands on me

In my skintight jeans

Be your teenage dreams tonight."

I also failed to notice the innuendo until the second or third time at the chorus. _Oh_… No Kurt, too fast. No _BLURT_ sexytimes just yet. Might cause complications later. No! Bad penis! Down boy! Seriously, what was the point of the things anyway? All it did was cause me embarrassment when Blaine was around and singing sexy lyrics.

The song ended and my Prince Charming descended from his throne to wrap his arms around me. Still high on being serenaded, I picked him up princess-style and twirled him around. Bitches, please, I know what your sitcom gay minds-obsessed minds are thinking. I'm actually a decent-sized guy and I dance and work out, and Blaine is an adorable hobbit of a man; picking him up was no problem. The shock was evident on his face, but it was quickly replaced by a punch-drunk grin as he wrapped his arms securely around my shoulders as I spun him around. Then he reached up and kissed me.

We twirled around in a circle kissing slowly, romantically. That's right, the man of my dreams in my arms, as light as a feather, kissing me in front of all his friends without a shred of shame. As we broke apart, a young African American man side-by-side with an Asian guy staggered past of, one miming vomit and clutching their jaws, respectively.

"I have diabetes! It's all your fault, Klaine!"

"So many cavities. Damn you, Klaine!"

"Klaine?" I repeated, still holding Blaine in my arms, where he stayed contentedly nestled. (Have I mentioned how crazy I am about this guy yet?)

"It's our couple name." Blaine said, stroking my cheek absentmindedly. "They refuse to call us anything else when we're both involved."

I wrinkled my nose. _Klaine_. Sounded like one of those new-age ugly names poorly-cultured mothers gave their bratty sons. Ew. I refused to have our couple name be "_Klaine_".

"Our couple name is _BLURT_." I stated, matter-of-factly. "And while I thank you all for your creatively in coming up with a couple name for us, I must de—"

"Nope, you guys are Klaine." The Asian guy said, as if that finished the matter.

"But—"

"It is a lovely combination of your names." The African American guy added.

"You can't—"

"Shh!"

"But—"

"Zip it!"

"I—"

"Kurt, this is what you're doing," the first one began, opening and shutting his hand in a 'talking' gesture, "and this is what you should be doing." The other added, making a 'shut up' hand gesture.

And that is how we became Klaine. I suppose with therapy, I can get used to it.

Apparently, teenage Native America parties were on outlet for karaoke, for while Blaine and I were being dubbed as 'Klaine', (I still disapprove, by the way) Rachel had pounced on the microphone and had launched into _I'm Not That Girl_ from _Wicked_, which is a beautiful, heartbreaking song about the object of your affections choosing someone with beauty over your brains. Somehow, Rachel made it a melodramatic ballad about being alone because her unrequited lover found an implied girl hotter than she was. Personally, I think the unrequited lover found the implied girl less_ annoying_ than she was. There was a smattering of applause and Rachel basked in it for a moment before moving straight into _On My Own_ and then _A Little Drop of _Rain, both from _Les Miserables_. I was sensing a pattern. I had to admit, she had a fantastic voice, but the longer she was up there, the stronger my aversion to her was. Finally, she was nearly dragged offstage by two members of the Garglers, a skinny blonde boy and a dark-haired guy. Without further ado, they began to sing _Anything You Can Do_ from _Annie Get Your Gun_. Their homoerotic undertones were off the scale (seriously, are these guys _all_ gay?) and I knew I wasn't alone in my refreshment of the newly Rachel-less stage.

Feeling bold, I let go of Blaine's hand and kissed him on the cheek before making my own way to the stage. As soon as they realized what was going on, the Garglers let out a chant of, "Kurt! Kurt! Kurt! Kurt! Kurt!" and when they quieted down, I heard someone yell, "YEAH BUDDY! BLAINE LOVES DAT ASS!" Doing my best to ignore the burning sensation that was spreading across my cheeks, I sat down at the keyboard that was randomly onstage, shooing the accompanist away. Apparently, there's this pianist who follows everyone around. It's a little creepy, but all of Wyoming (fucking stalker-town Wyoming) seems to roll with it, so I did too.

"I would like to dedicate this song to my boyfriend, Blaine—"

"AWW YYYEEAAHHH! TAP DAT ASS!" Someone interrupted. I ignored the burning sensation in my cheeks again as I decided not to wonder whose ass they were referring to.

"I wrote this song for you while I was pining for you. I guess this makes me your stalker." There was a smattering of laughter, along with several more lewd catcalls. Ignoring them, I began to sing.

"I've seen his face

I've heard his name

I've lost my place and he's to blame

And I can't stand it

When I'm staring in his eyes

And he's not looking back

It ain't no big surprise

I've heard music

I've heard noise

I wish that he could hear his voice

The way that I do

When I go to sleep at night

And dream my life away

But he's gone when I awake."

A hush had fallen over the usually hyper crowd and I took this to be a good sign, so I went ahead with the chorus.

"Bla—a—a—a—aine,

Bla—a—a—a—aine,

I can't complain,

That you drive me insane."

I had sat up late nights trying to make the lyrics sound less awkward and flow more with the music. Finally, I had decided that as awkward as one-syllable names sounded with this melody, Blaine's name as perfect and therefore, the song was finished…not that songs are ever really finished, but you get the point.

"The way his hair falls in his eyes

Makes me wonder

If he'll ever see through my disguise

And I'm under his spell

Everything is falling

But I don't know where to land

Everyone knows who he is

But he don't know who I am."

I stole another glance into the ground where I knew Blaine was. He was standing there, his gaze transfixed on me and although I could barely make out the outlines of his face, he looked like he was about to cry.

"Bla—a—a—a—aine

Bla—a—a—a—aine

I can't complain

That you drive me insane.

I see you singing on that stage

Looking like an angel

And all I do is pray

That maybe someday

You'll hear my song

And understand that all along

There's something more that I'm trying to say

When I say,

Bla—a—a—a—aine

Bla—a—a—a—aine

I can't complain

That you drive me insane."

I rose from the keyboard, signifying that my song was done. The Garglers roared their approval and the next thing I knew, several of them were carrying Blaine towards the stage, at which point, they catapulted him at me and we collided. Tears were streaming down his face (I made my boyfriend cry, yay! Usually I'm the crybaby…) and he was kissing every inch of my face that he could reach. I was distracted by this for a minute, but when I came too, I was aware that the Garglers were at their lewd catcalls again and I allowed Blaine to drag me offstage.

"Kurt that was…beautiful." He managed, separating his lips from my neck long enough to look at me and wipe away his tears with his thumb. "I…cried. No one's ever written a song for me before. You." _Kiss_. "Are." _Kiss_. "A."_ Kiss_. "Fantastic." _Kiss_. "Musician." _Kiss_.

I opened my mouth to retort, but he held a finger against my lips. "And you know what else?" He added, lowering his voice, not that anyone was listening anyway—the Garglers all seemed to have the attention spans of three-year-olds, "You're supermegafoxyawesomehot when you sing."

I blinked.

"Thanks…er…'supermegafoxyawesomehot'?"

Blaine blushed a bit. "It's a thing. David and Wes are to blame."

I didn't ask who David and Wes were, as I assumed they were two of the gay squirrels that made up the Garglers. I did, however, continue to ask about the origin of…supermegafoxyawesomehot, not that I was complaining.

"Well, if you really want to know, it involves a toilet plunger and a lot of baking soda, we were…" But Blaine's voice trailed up, his attention once again focused on the stage. I followed his gaze and my attention was soon caught up in the new performer.

Cooper had taken the stage and he was surveying the audience warily, like a wild animal who still wasn't sure if he should trust humans. Everyone was dead silent for a few long moments, then careful applause broke out and Cooper silently drew out some sheet music that he gave to the stalker pianist. Then Cooper began to sing.

"Look at me,

I will never pass for the perfect bride

Or the perfect daughter

Can't you see

I'm not meant to play this part?

Now I see

That if I were truly to be myself

I would break my family's heart."

The song was familiar, a Disney tune, originally sung by Christina Aguilera, but knowing the little I did of Cooper's story, the song instantly took on new meaning.

"Who is this girl I see

Staring straight back at me?

Why is my reflection someone I don't know?

Somehow I cannot hide

Who I am, though I've tried

When will my reflection show,

Who I am inside?"

His voice was strong, once he got into the rhythm of the song. He was a solid tenor, his voice strong and masculine, with a rock edge to it. Cold and intimidating he might be, but I couldn't help but feel for him. I didn't know what he'd been through, but if being gay in Ohio was tough, I couldn't image the hell he had been through being transgendered in fucking Wyoming.

"When will my reflection show who I am inside?"

The last night was melancholy and sweet. There was silence. Cooper stood awkwardly on the stage, his eyes growing wide as his body tensed, preparing for flight and a night of sulking. Then the Garglers rose to their feet and gave him a deafening standing ovation. Cooper flushed deepest puce as the over-enthusiastic Garglers laid claim to the stage and bounced around him. He looked a little concerned for his safety, but a real smile—the first real smile I'd seen on him yet, broke over his features as he was surrounded by his new fanclub.

Blaine smiled and then turned back to me.

"C'mon," He said, "He's fine, let's go have fun."

The rest of the night passed in a blur. I vaguely remember the African American and Asian guys from earlier, (I learned that their names were Wes and David) bringing out alcohol and for some reason, I tasted some wine. What? Wine is tasty. Wine is classy. And then I had more wine. And then I progressed to beer. Then vodka. There were some memories of Finn and Rachel making out and then I grabbed Blaine and it became some kind of sick competition.

…...

I heard my pillow sigh contentedly and burrowed into it more closely. Its curls tickled my face and so moved by face further down, not wanting to move away from its comforting body heat.

Wait a minute, pillows don't sigh contently. Pillows don't have curly hair. Pillows don't have body heat. I opened my eyes warily, a part of me not wanting to see what mess I can gotten myself into last night.

Blaine lay curled in a warm nest, his curly hair askew, breathing so sweetly that I felt the warm fuzzies flooding through my chest just looking at him. His was unbuttoned, showing me a peak of his bare chest, which, I noticed now, was perfectly toned and had a scattering of hair. I looked down and saw that my own shirt had been unbuttoned, leaving my tank top to show-through. My vest had been tossed to the side and my clothes were wrinkled because I'd slept in them. That certainly put a damper on my mood as I surreptitiously buttoned my shirt and slipped my vest back on. Then I surveyed the damage we had inflicted on the world last night.

Our field was a wreck. It looked like a battle involving bottles full of booze and men's shirts. Indeed, as I discovered next, Blaine and I were positively modest, as it seemed every male at the party had removed his shirt and proceeded to cuddle up with at least one other male. Blaine had told me previously that while they all didn't _exclusively_ go after men, there wasn't a straight guy among them. Come to think of it, that was the only thing I could remember of last night. Well, that and the copious amounts of alcohol and sucking Blaine's delicious face.

A couple (at least, I _assumed_ they were a couple: who am I to say that last night's activities were only limited to two people) stirred from under a blanket and I snuggled back into a sleeping position next to me boyfriend, leaving my eyes cracked open, curious to know who had been doing the nasty with who. What I saw cured me of my curiosity for life.

Naked Finn. Naked Rachel. Naked Finn. Naked Rachel. Naked Finn and Rachel together. I felt something lurch in my stomach and honestly thought I was going to throw up. Of course the only straight male and female at the party were going to find each other and well…considering that neither of them were wearing anything, I felt that it was safe to assume they had been, oh what's that phrase that the kids use no adays? Oh yeah, HAVINGDRUNKSEX!

"Blaine." I hissed, shaking my boyfriend lightly as he stirred adorably at my side. A part wanted to squeal at the sight, but nakedFinnandnakedRachel meant that there was no time for Blaine's adorableness. "Wake up! Blaine!"

"Fivemureminotes…" He mumbled, snuggling into my neck.

"BLAINE!"

"Huh?" He opened his eyes, better roused this time, as he grinned stupidly at me. Then, realization hit him. Maybe he remembered what happened last night, but he looked absolutely terrified as he scanned the field. He flinched when he saw the lump of flesh that was nakedFinnandnakedRachel and then looked down in horror at his own shirt, which hurriedly began buttoning. In his loud, terrified whisper, I heard the most horrifying words that I would ever hear him say.

"Oh my god. Did we all have sex last night?"

**A/N: Did they all have sex last night? Will nakedFinnandnakedRachel get their clothes back? Will Blaine find the Chamberpot of secrets? Um, I mean...**

**Also, song lyric credits:**

**_Teenage Dream_ by Katy Perry  
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**_Sami/Harry_ by Darren Criss (I had to rewrite the chorus a bit and change gender pronouns)  
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**_Reflection_ from Disney's _Mulan_  
><strong>


	12. That Damn Videotape

**A/N: This chapter is short and rather choppy. Sorry, writer's plot. I've figured out how the story eventually ends...sorta! Enjoy!**

**Also, I still don't own Glee. If I did, I wouldn't have deleted those scenes in favor of Finchel! WHAT IS WRONG WITH HUMAINITY?!**

I heard a moan from my other side as Jeff rose, making the most of the expression 'rise and shine'. Apparently, Jeff was fast to become fully-coherent, for as soon as he caught sight of nakedFinnandnakedRachel, he first wretched and called out at the top of his voice.

"Oi! You two! Cover up! Yeah! You! COVER THE HELL UP!"

I as already scrambling towards the blonde problem, but I was too late. Apparently, Rachel was also very quick to be coherent in the morning, for she shot up out of her slumber, looked at nakedFinn, looked at her own naked body, let out a shrill scream and then disappeared under the…tent? What had been a tent? I'm still not really sure what it was. Finn was slower to come too and when he did, his first question was, "Dude…what happened last night? Did we get drunk? Oh, HOW, everyone! I forgot we were at an Indian pow-wow."

"Finn…" I started between clenched teeth.

"Kurt told me that it's politically incorrect to call you guys 'Indians', but you know what? Fuck political whatsit!"

Obviously, he was still a little drunk.

"Finn…"

"Wha'?" He mumbled, his gaze out of focus.

"You're naked."

"Huh?"

"You're naked. Like, stark naked. You are completely and utterly butt-fucking naked."

He looked down at his naked Frankenteen body. "Would ya look at that." He mused, as if he had just discovered one of mother nature's less impressive miracles.

I actually facepalmed. Again. Why did I even bring him with me? Oh, right, Dad made me _in case things got out of hand_.

Enter Nick, who was never far from Jeff.

"Hey guys! I videotaped everything last night!"

Brilliant. Fucking brilliant.

There was a general acknowledgement in the form of hungover cheers of encouragment, at this news and David and Wes dragged a half-conscious Cooper and returned, moments later, with a computer monitor. After many curses, some fumbling and Nick and Jeff half-heartedly making out, (apparently they're together now? Although after last night, I wouldn't be surprised…) the camera was connected to the monitor and everyone lazily gathered around to watch the debautchery they had committed the previous night, Finn still completely naked. Was I the only one offended by this?

There was the singing, which they decided to skip over (the bastards). Then the drinking started and before long, David and Wes started playing Gay Chicken, but apparently, they're both bi anyway, so it didn't last long and they were happily making out.

"_Pathetic! Watch real men suck face!"_ Jeff called over the video, grabbing Nick and effectively taking all of his face into his mouth and immerging several long, horrible minutes later accompanied by a noise reminiscent to a plunger being pulled from a toilet and a lot of catcalls. Then I saw Rachel, bottle in one hand and dragging Finn with the other, staggered into focus, pushing Nick and Jeff ('Niff', apparently…seriously, who comes up with these?) out of the way, jumping on Finn, wrapping her legs around his torso and snogging him on full on the mouth.

I think I vomited a little. In the back of my mouth. Yeah…EW!

That didn't prepare me for the sight I had to witness next. I saw myself stumble up into the view of the camera, an entire wine bottle dangling from my hand and my other arm around an equally wasted Blaine. We both appeared to be laughing and I took a swig from the bottle—like a fucking pirate, I might add, and the sound of my voice, sounding odd and more high-pitched than usual, echoing off the camera as it met my ears. What I did next was absolutely revolting.

Without disturbing the grotesque tsumi of mixed hormones behind me, I grabbed Blaine and kissed him—open mouthed, public and filthy. Let's just saw that hearing my own moans in a public setting ensured that I would never get another erection again. And speaking of erections, ohsweetSondheim, no, we weren't…we were. One of my legs was wrapped around Blaine and we were…yeah…dry humping in public.

Somebody kill me now. Please. I don't want to live anymore.

I buried my face in Blaine's chest, but I could still hear the moaning and cheers of the crowd. I peeked through my fingers, feeling my body quiver in mounting horror at what I saw unfolding on the camera before me. I couldn't watch, but at the same time, I couldn't look away.

Recorded Kurt pulled away from recorded Blaine and there was mass boo-ing. Then, to my complete disgust, I raised the bottle to my lips and chugged until I threw the wine bottle to the ground, as it was apparently empty. I raised my hands above the crowd until they were relatively quiet.

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" I heard my voice, even shriller than usual in last night's…excitement. "I have three words for you, boys: MAKE OUT CONTEST!"

The crowd of 'gentleman' confirmed their enthusiasm at the idea and I grabbed Blaine and attacked him with my tongue. He didn't appear to be complaining and he mirrored my motions as my hands roamed willingly over his (admittedly ravishing) body and my tongue molested his neck. FinnandRachel were engaged in similar activities, but I don't believe I can recount them without sobbing uncontrollably…more than I already am.

Apparently, my screen-self thought it was an appropriate moment to remove the unnecesary object known as Blaine's shirt and it was on the ground in minutes, joined by my own and I watched as my wifebeater-self met Blaine's smokinghotabs, ohmygaga, he's so—no! Not the time!

Apparently, screen-Rachel did not take kindly to this and was stripping herself and Finn naked with startling speed and the next thing I knew, they were humping each other in their underwear. Then they fell off the stage. The sick pervert who was taping this future blackmail material followed them and I thank my lucky stars that all they were able to catch on tape was some humping and moaning of nakedFinnandnakedRachel. I swear, I never, EVER want to see Rachel or my brother having sex with anyone, least of all, each other.

I shuddered and burrowed closer into Blaine, but the torture wasn't over yet. Trent appeared and began to narrate, newscaster style.

"As you can see, Finchel has disappeared off the stage and Finn is quite preoccupied with parking his yacht in Hair Harbor, if you know what I mean… Klaine, on the other hand, seems to have been satisfied with shirtless—damn my balls! They're cuddling?! Where's the fabulous double love liquor? WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?!"

"Trent, get away from the camera!" Someone called, from offscreen.

I whimpered and snuggled closer to my boyfriend. At least we hadn't gone past rubbing our crotches up against each other (not that I had direct memories of that). But why did we have to do it in front of everyone?

There was a little more of the video, involving several pairs (or threesomes) of Warblers groping each other and a lot more drinking. Finally, finally, the video ended, much to the disappointment of the _bastards_ I call my new friends.

"Woah…"

I turned and say Finn next to me, his eyes wide, his body totally still as he digested what had just happened. He was still butt-fucking naked.

"FINN! PUT SOME FUCKING CLOTHES ON!"

**A/N: Thank you for all the lovely reviews. There'll be a chapter in which plot actually happens coming soon!**


	13. Who Doesn't Love Gay Porn?

It was traumatic, but I feel that with time, and a lot of expensive therapy, I will be able to recover from the horrors of 'the best party ever. woo', as everyone else called it (I refer to it as 'the night I died inside'). Anyway, since the party, the Garglers seemed to pop up everywhere and spout random, inappropriate announcements, usually sexual in nature, out of their overused mouths. Finn and Rachel failed to mention each other and I had spent an awful lot of time cuddling with Blaine, trying to erase the memory of our…public indecency. What I did not want to erase, strangely enough, was the thought of his crotch on mine.

Although I could barely fathom it myself, I, Kurt Hummel, actually wanted to have sex with someone. Not all-out sex just yet, mind you, but I was newly out to get into Blaine's pants. Well, okay, it was more like I was obsessed with the idea of groping around in the vicinity of his private parts, if you know what I mean.

But I couldn't just _tell_ Blaine that. I know, it's stupid. Not only had we been dry humping, (in public) but being my boyfriend, I should be able to look him in the eyes and say, 'Hey, how would you feel about us penis fencing sometime?'. I repeat, I am a stupid, stupid man. I needed to talk to someone, someone who knew about sex.

Hello Finn.

As much as I hated to do it, he had recently become the best man for the job. I had several elaborate schemes worked out, but Finn had proven himself to be as dumb as a doornail and I knew that if I was going to get to him, I would have to use the direct approach.

"Hey bro," I said, attempting to speak his language as I strode into his room and shut the door behind me. "I need to know everything you know about sex, so spill."

Really, it was an accomplishment to keep a smooth, unreadable face all through this. I didn't even blush!

Finn just sat there stupidly for a moment.

"You said 'bro'." He pointed out.

"In an attempt to use your vernacular, yes, I have given voice to the term 'bro'. Now, I was entertaining the idea of sticking my dick into my boyfriend's ass, or having him stick his dick into mine. I don't really much care. I just need to know some specifics."

"Uhhh…"

Needless to say, that conversation didn't end well, but as I exited the lair of the teen behemoth, another possibility came to mind. A slightly less problematic, _gay_ possibility.

Sebastian.

I had to be a little more careful with Sebastian: I couldn't just materialize in his bedroom and announce that I wanted to know the intricacies of homosexual fornication. He was more sensitive. Let me rephrase that: he was sensitive, unlike some people I could mention.

The next time Sebastian and I were granted privacy in each other's presence was mid-day in the barn as we polished our saddles, side-by-side, and our respective horses munching contentedly in their stalls as we worked. Fighting back the blush that had been fighting to break through during the encounter with Finn, I took a deep breath. This was nuts, but if Monty Python said it worked then it…probably was a recipe for lots of what-the-fuck's.

"Hey, Sebastian…do you like photography?"

He paused and gave me a bewildered look. I smiled innocently back and went back to scrubbing my stirrup leathers. After a minute, he gave in.

"Uh, sure, it's all right."

"Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Know what I mean? Eh? Eh?"

"Um…okay?" Sebastian said, before returning to his work.

"Been around?" I tried. Really, this was getting quiet funny.

"No, I've never traveled." He answered, sounding increasingly confused.

"Oh, say no more! Say no more! Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, know what I mean?"

"Kurt, what—?"

"Are you a virgin?"

There was a long silence and then...

"…No."

Yes! All the answers were within my grasp. I cast a furtive glance around us and then leaned in and spoke in a hushed voice.

"What's it like?"

….

I made certain to pull my coat over my choice of clothing as I headed out the door into the sunset and saddled Pavarotti. My heart was pounding in my chest, but my resolution was set. Now that I knew what to do, there was no way I could be stopped. Arriving at the reservation, I let myself into Blaine's loft and tossed off my coat and the oversized jeans I had worn over my…outfit. Personally, I was against the concept of what I liked to call 'slutification', but if the all-knowing Master of Sex, Sebastian, said this is what I had to do to get my man, then I would gladly go through with it.

Enter Blaine.

"What the…"

"Hello there…hot stuff…" I said, doing my best to imitate a Marilyn Monroe purr. "Care to join me for a little…evening romp?" I sat on an opened hay bale and spread my legs just a little. Note to self: leather booty shorts are really uncomfortable…especially when they're made for women.

"Uhhh…"

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" I tried, as my boyfriend merely stood there, looking awkward. I decided to take matters into my own hands. I rose and performed the best seductive walk I could, running my fingers across his chest and then across his shoulder blades, as I circled around him, purring into his ear. "Just think of all the _fun_ you and I could get up to, all _alone_ up here."

"Um, Kurt?"

"Just think Blaine…" I turned and shimmied my hips as I walked, just as Sebastian had instructed. I regained eye contact with Blaine before lowering myself to sit, legs spread wide-apart, on the hay bale, which promptly gave way under me and I fell squarely and painfully on my ass, my legs flying wildly and un-sexily into the air. And to top it all off, before I could stop myself, I let out a squeal.

In a second, I could feel Blaine by my side.

"Are you okay?"

I allowed myself to be pulled into a sitting position, doing my best to avert my crimson face.

"Yeah…" I squeaked, burying my face in his shoulder.

He made a noise of concern and took me up in his arms and held me close. I'm not sure what emotional drama was taking place inside of me, but at that moment, the dam broke and I started to cry into his shirt, and it did not go unnoticed.

"Hey now, what's wrong? Everyone has a bad fashion day now and then." He tried, running a hand over my back, which was clad in nothing but a black vest and bow tie.

"Don't play stupid." I scolded, fighting to gain control over myself.

He blushed. It was actually really cute, given the circumstances. Note to self: dress like a Chip 'N Dales employee and fall off of hay bales to make Blaine blush and—no, Kurt, focus!

"Okay, so why, exactly, did you think parading around in…in…_that_ would 'cause me to become sexually aroused?" Blaine said, fighting the color in his cheeks.

I sighed and wiped the tears from my face, now that I had stopped crying. This is what he said I needed to do to get Blaine's attention, so I did it, naturally. No, I knew this idea was stupid, but I did it anyway. And why? Because I knew that while I looked fabulous in my designer trappings, I wasn't much to look at in my birthday suit.

"'Cause Sebastian said this was what you liked." I muttered, not looking at him.

"Kurt, look at me." I reluctantly titled my head to meet his eyes. "Sebastian and I barely got to second base."

It hit me. Blaine was a virgin? And more importantly, Sebastian was a virgin? They hadn't done the mattress dance? I was half happy, half disappointed. Now who was I going to go to when I needed the skinny on gay sex?

"So many gay virgins…"

Of all the things I could have said, that was what came out of my mouth. Blaine stopped for a moment and then broke out in the laugh.

"Kurt…" He giggled, "What the fuck?"

"When your boyfriend catches you looking like a twenty-dollar hooker in an effort to please him, you start babbling about gay virgins, okay?"

"What's wrong with gay virgins?" Blaine said, half serious.

"Absolutely nothing!" I said, knowing it was a close save and reaching up to kiss Blaine on the lips. It was then that I remembered that I was still wearing the aforementioned twenty-dollar hooker outfit.

"I think I need to put on pants." I announced, getting up quickly and walking away.

"Please." Blaine added, good-naturedly, tossing me a pair of his as he turned around, like the gentleman he was. He meant it in the best way. I knew that it was about the costume, but what he said next hurt me.

"If I have to look at…_that_ much longer I might have to try heterosexuality."

….

I, Kurt Hummel, now have insecurities about my body. Okay, I did before the twenty-dollar-hooker costume event, everyone does, but it was only now that it was noticeable. I rushed home and peered at myself in the mirror; clad in nothing but boxer-briefs and an undershirt (I refused to call them 'wifebeaters'). I'd always thought that I'd had small teeth, but my face…it was still jiggly with baby fat. I raised my arms in a 'Gaston manly pose', flexing my biceps, and just as quickly letting them flutter to my sides. Who was I kidding? I had string beans for arms. I left my arms travel lower. There was a thin layer of fat on my belly and I didn't have anything in the category of Situation Abs. And then…well, my _bulge_ was not exactly sufficient. I hadn't really thought about it until now, but I guess I wasn't exactly what you'd call 'well-endowed'. My legs were gangly and I didn't have near enough body hair to be considered masculine. I turned around, craning my neck to see the scatter plot of back-ne…seriously, you could play connect-the-dots with my back and my ass…let's just say that it looked fat, flat and feminine all in one.

Well, there you have it: Kurt Hummel isn't exactly supermegafoxyawesomehot. He's more… reallyflabbyfatstringbeanbut tface…with small teeth. Also, he talks to himself in third person when he's feeling insecure.

So now that I had this insecurity with my body thing going on, I received the news at dinner that Roderick was entering the race that Blaine had mentioned. His Heterosexuality was busy stuffing food in his already full when he mentioned winning the race after he was finished with the bull-riding competition. See, usually I tune out everything he says, but he mentioned Pavarotti's name.

"And with Pervoratti, that race is a cinch."

"Excuse me, what about my horse?" I said, pausing between bits of my salad (to keep my figure trim).

"He's not _your_ horse." Roderick growled, not even bothering to look in my direction as he came up for air before gorging himself on the cow carcass again.

"Yeah? I'm the only who can ride him."

"The gay kid's got a point, Rod." Adrian cut in. Wait a minute, 'the gay kid'? Was this his way of being liberal and hip. Whatever.

"Besides, you can't ride him in the race." I added, pushing a croton out of the way to eat a spinach leaf instead.

"Yeah?" He challenged.

"Yeah. 'Cause I'm riding him in the race."

And just like that, I dug myself into a world of deep shit.

….

So, gay porn. Right…who doesn't love gay porn? Never mind, don't answer that question. I hadn't wanted to resort to this, but because I wasn't getting the information I needed from the people around me, I had to watch some, er, _educational videos_ instead. Sebastian was out somewhere, probably squirming to continue repressing his sexual urges under his father's watchful gaze, and I was alone in the dark room. I cast one more furtive glance around the room, then put my ear buds in and pressed play.

Oh, the horrors.

As the old wives' tales go, people, _normal_ people, are supposed to become sexually aroused when watching pornography. In plain English, that meant my…male anatomy was supposed to be getting hard about now, but instead it felt like it was shrinking back into itself. The…_educational video_ (I only got to _one_) itself was sickening, almost gruesome. The man who was…doing the administering, was this ripped, tattooed, heavily pierced skinhead and he is what I would call 'completely unattractive'. He did have an…unusual tattoo that depicted two unicorns vomiting into a man's anus. The tattoo itself was enough, but the placement made it ten times worse. The unicorns wound around his buttocks and the vomit trailed down between his inner thighs and the receptive man was etched into the tops of his upper thighs and his testicles. The cameras made a big deal out of showing this, as if everyone was quite smitten with his skin graffiti. He was snapping his hips hard enough to make them break into another man who looked like he was in a great deal of pain. This guy was thin and blonde and his abuser was calling him a 'filthy slut'. What was more, they were back-to-front, so they couldn't see each other's faces…not that that would have made their situation any better. Their faces were kind of, well, gross.

I couldn't take it anymore. I clicked the little red x and then slammed my laptop shut. My heart was racing and I was breathless, but not with a passionate sex drive I was supposed to have. Indeed, the _educational_—fine, porn, had only made me never want to have sex. Ever. Why would anyone subject themselves to _that_?! Suddenly, I felt really bad for porn actors. What were their lives like? What if someone recognized them at the grocery store? What were family holidays like? What did their mothers think? And why, why, _why_ would he get that tattoo _there_?!

I felt sick, so I flopped onto my bed and drifted off to sleep.

I awoke just before dawn and immediately remembered my promise to Rod and began dressing quickly. Unfortunately, I also remembered the porn I had tried to watch last night and I dressed extra-quickly, not wanting to see any private parts of my own body if I didn't have to. No need to ever worry about getting erections around Blaine again!

Oh…Blaine. Yeah, _that happened_. I cringed to myself as I saddled Pavarotti and rode to the Reservation. I had tried to get my boyfriend's attention in a cross-dressing, amateur, thoroughly un-sexy miserable attempt…and I had failed miserably. And today I had to face him. Face him and ask him for a different favor entirely. I was in for some _fun_.

"Blaine?" I called out, dismounting from Pavarotti and leading him between the trailers as I searched for evidence of my probably scared-off, put-off-sex-forever boyfriend. I tossed my horse's reins over a post and let myself into his trailer.

"Blaine! Bl—oh, sorry Cooper." I stopped myself as I saw Blaine's older, slightly emo brother reading a book at their 'kitchen' table.

"Blaine went for a ride in the hills. Conditioning some horses for the race. He'll be back in about twenty minutes or so." Cooper said, casually.

"Oh. Right. Cool. Thanks." I said, standing there, awkwardly. I shoved my hands in my pockets and rocked back and forward awkwardly for a minute before attempting even more awkward conversation.

"So…what'cha reading?"

"_Instinctual Desires: A Study of Men Who Engage In Sexual Relations with Men_." Cooper reported, without missing a beat.

I blinked.

"_What_?"

Cooper raised one eyebrow.

"I heard what you said, I just wasn't sure you actually said it."

"Well, I did."

"It was never a question of—never mind, I—"

"Are you judging me, Kurt?"

The man who had been sickened by porn judging his boyfriend's brother who could calmly read about what sounded like scientific sex? I don't even know where to begin with that one.

"No, no, of course not, Cooper. I was just…surprised, no, caught off guard, that's all."

Cooper rolled his eyes and snapped his book shut before fixing his eyes on me, eyes so much darker and colder than Blaine's. "I want to be a sex therapist, okay?"

"Really? That's actually really cool."

"Huh, you're just saying that 'cause you and your judgmental, sex-negative attitude nearly made an ass of yourself." He shot back, reopening his book.

Oh, if he only knew of the sex-negativity I'd been through in the past twenty-four hours.

"No I didn't!" I protested.

Cooper snorted, "Quit fooling yourself."

Anger and frustration (probably some of it sexual) shot through my limbs as I opened my mouth to retort, but then an idea hatched. An idea that would help both of us, and get Cooper off my ass…figuratively.

"I'm not fooling myself. Actually, I, um…" I sat gingerly in the chair across from him while he glared at his book containing the great secrets of penis fencing. "I…don't tell Blaine…but I think you have your first patient.


End file.
